


Thawing

by OneToughChick



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneToughChick/pseuds/OneToughChick





	1. Chapter 1

            Mycroft sat at his desk, looking at the file in front of him, quickly assessing the required information before writing his decision and signature on the final sheet. After placing that file into a bin, he automatically reached for the next briefly glancing at the front to see which crisis would be outlined in this one. Paperwork was commonplace in his life, along with meetings, phone calls and anything else involved in keeping the British Government running smoothly. He was halfway through a summary of a recent MI6 job when his phone rang, interrupting the pace he had set. Glancing at the screen, he sighed, knowing what was in store.

            “Yes brother mine?” he answered, anxious to hang up and get back to the looming pile of files Anthea had placed on his desk that morning.

            “Come to the flat now”, was the only words he heard, before the man on the other end hung up, cutting off any chance of a reply. Another sigh escaped as he reluctantly put the file down. There was no point fighting his brother on this, even though he could easily win being the smart one of the two, but he knew in the long run it would be easier to appease his child-like brother. The quicker he got over there, the quicker he could return to his job. After putting on his coat and grabbing his black umbrella, he let Anthea know where he would be, then set off in his black car.

           

            The flat looked the same as always. Same smiley face made from bullet holes, same stacks of paper covering most of the surfaces. Same lab equipment and experiments taking over the kitchen. With another sigh, he sat down in the chair, staring at the tall curly haired man laying upside down on the couch. “Well, what is of the utmost importance that it trumps the dire issues of the world?”

            “I solved it. It was the Chinese diplomat”

            “And this warrants a personal visit brother mine? I must say you’re slipping. Craving human interaction now are we?”

            At this moment John walked in from his room, carrying his laptop and noticing their guest. “Oh hey Mycroft. I’m sorry he made you come over here. Sherlock, I don’t see why you didn’t just text him. I’m sure he has important things to do.”

            The man on the couch sat up and stared at his brother. “No he’s just going through files that can wait and . And no brother dearest, I don’t crave human interaction. Simply put, I have  information I thought you could put to use is all, though I don’t see why I have to share it with you. It’s rather quite boring.” He rolled onto his back while staring at the ceiling. “It seems there is a new murder plot by one of the drug cartels.”

            Silence permeated the air as Sherlock closed his eyes while his flat mate stared at him in increasing annoyance. “If you aren’t going to tell your brother anything I’m just not going to help you next time you want to drag me to a crime scene. You can go alone next time and annoy Greg and hopefully get punched.”

            With a groan, Sherlock flopped up and once again looked at his brother. “Fine. It seems a local drug cartel is targeting some woman who lives down the street. She doesn’t know it, but they’ve been watching her every move and have been tracking her movement. Not sure why though. Typical goldfish she is really. Plus she has no connection whatsoever with the cartel or anyone else involved with them.” Grabbing some files off the table, the tossed them at his brother and walked to one of his many experiments in the kitchen. “Everything’s there. Now, please don’t bother me until you have something interesting for me.”

            “I apologize Mycroft. He still does not seem to understand manners”, stated John as he shook his head.

            “He’s always been this way John. Nothing to apologize for. They can’t make up for his shortcomings. Well, if that’s everything it’s best if I head back. Very busy you know. Oh and tell Sherlock that Mother has been asking when he will visit next.” with that, Mycroft walked out of the flat, saying a quick hello to Mrs. Hudson as she swept the landing, and began to head to his car. Once seated he opened the file and read a bit about this supposed target.

            Your name was ______ and you were an artist, with a focus on painting, drawing and metalwork, who sometimes did illustrations for children's books. You graduated from a college in the United States with a Bachelors in Art and a minor in History, moved to London shortly after to get more work experience, and had been living in your current flat for two years. There was nothing abnormal about you or your connections that would indicate why you were an intended target for a drug cartel. He would look into this later after his meeting with some emissaries.

 

            Later that night he sat again at his desk, scotch in one hand and his laptop in front of him. He went through his various emails, answering the ones he deemed important and ignoring the ones he could not be bothered to answer. Anthea had gone home to her husband hours ago as had the rest of the staff, which you did not mind. It allowed for peace, quiet, and the completion of more work. Another email about a security breach in MI5, security reports involving some missile developments in an undisclosed location. This was a usual night for him and he found solace in that. Mycroft disliked change and surprises. He thrived on consistency and continuity. Sadly, his dearest brother enjoyed ruining his calm life with his plots, deductions and insane schemes. Time and time again a perfect work night had been ruined by a call informing him that Sherlock had broken into the Tate Museum, stolen important evidence from a crime scene, or offended a high ranking official. His life had been spent cleaning up after his younger brother and fixing his mistakes.

            Thankfully he had a night of tranquility and could put this time to good use. Soon all his emails were sorted and his files were prepared for tomorrow and he made his way to his home. It was large for one man but very much him. Clean, modern, everything in its place. After walking in, he hung up his umbrella and coat, locked the door and headed to bed so he could start again in the morning.

 

            Mycroft grabbed his briefcase, shook the hands of a few important leaders, and walked to the lobby of the building. They had come to an agreement between a few countries on the brink of war, successfully preventing a possible World War Three. As he walked towards the exit, intent on finding his car and going back to the office, he heard his name being called.

            “Mycroft! Congratulations on another successful prevention of war!”

            “Ahh Victor,” he stated while facing the man. “How’s political life treating you?”

            “Ah very well very well indeed. Polls are up, laws being upheld and justice being served. Another good day in serving our Queen and Country I say” said the man. He was tall, with dark black hair, green eyes, and a voice that seemed to hypnotise you. Obviously the type of man most women went for, which was proven by the fact that every woman in the area was staring at him, trying to figure out a way to grab his attention. The two men had known each other since their college days and therefore had grown to have a mutual respect for each other. Mycroft did not consider Victor a friend for Mycroft had no need for friends, but he saw him as a man with a high level of intellect who was above the average goldfish who surrounded them on a daily basis. He did find Victor’s use of emotion to be a flaw in his character, but then again, not everyone could be as perfect and brilliant as himself. The two shared a few more minutes of polite conversation before he excused himself and quickly got into his black car to head back to the office.

 

            On arrival to his office he was greeted with a nod from Anthea who handed him a small stack of documents for him to go through. Seated with his typical glass of scotch he was quickly reading the documents he had been handed, placing them into piles in order of urgency and importance. Just as he was about to delve deep into work, Anthea knocked letting him know he had a visitor.

            Flustered and slightly red, John walked into the office looking very out of place. Mycroft knew his brother could not stand him and therefore sent the good doctor to relay whatever information he had. Annoying yes, but even though the sandy haired was lacking in the mental area, he was kind and actually had manners and followed social customs. He also happened to be a decent medical doctor and even better at keeping his flatmate on a leash. Apologizing, the man sat down in the chair Mycroft offered him and glanced around the office as if he expected to be surprised with some strange attack or experiment. Poor man had lived with Sherlock for far too long.

            “Sorry to bother you Mycroft, but your brother sent me to pick up the files on the bomb case. Said you’d have them ready. If you don’t I can come back later.”

            “No no, they’re right here all set and prepared for him. Have him inform me of any deductions or findings so I can get my people on a solution.” he said while not giving much thought to the nervous man in the chair.

            “Oh... well... Thank you then. I’ll leave you to it, but first… I do have a question.” Raising his head to meet his gaze, Mycroft nodded, indicating that he can continue. “It’s about the girl Sherlock mentioned. ______. Is there anything we can do? I’m just concerned. We’ve run into each other once or twice while I’m on errands and she’s very kind. I’d hate to see anything bad happen to her really. I’d even be willing to watch her until something can be done.”

            The girl had not really crossed his mind with the bomb case and that rumour about a terrorist cell targeting Glasgow taking precedent. He honestly would not have been interested in doing anything about it until much later, but his brother had sent him over here and he could see the concern in John’s eyes. The man might be a goldfish, but his time in the army had taught him well, and he could be used to watch over the girl. This would be a simpler solution than having to find MI men to play bodyguard. “Give me a few hours and I will be at the flat at 7pm with details, much to Sherlock’s dismay.” John said a few words of thanks knowing that this was all he would get out of Mycroft, grabbed the files and went back to the break the bad news to Sherlock.

            Mycroft now moved the girl’s file in front of him, looking more thoroughly now that he needed information. You lived down the road from 221B, but not close enough to make it simple for John to watch you. Apparently you had been looking for a larger apartment, needing the space for your “work”, though how anyone can call pushing a brush and pen across paper a job he’ll never know. Quickly a plan formed in his mind and he began to make the necessary calls to put it into action.

 

            “UGGGGHHHHHHH” was the greeting Mycroft received as he walked into the flat.Ignoring his brother’s childish behavior, he took a seat on the couch, pulling out some papers for the two men in front of him.

            “Brother mine you must work on your manners you know. It’s very unbecoming of you this behavior, but then again I was always the more intelligent one.”

            “My intelligence does not correlate with my behavior and you know this. You’re just taking another moment to annoy me with your prolonged presence. Which is unnecessary as you could have just relayed the information to me through John.” said Sherlock as he reached for his violin.

            “Since you were astute enough to bring this issue to my attention, and then to have John bring it up again as a reminder in your stead, I felt i might as well put some plan into action so you would leave me to more important matters.” Mycroft was already losing his very thin patience with his brother and his mind was debating if he could be bothered to just leave and ignore his brother until he was necessary for a case, but knew that would have less than favorable outcomes. “Now if you’re ready to act like a grown man, the upcoming situation will be explained to you.”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why you had to come here just to explain to me what I already know Mycroft.”

            Poor John being the average person he was, had already grown confused watching the verbal match between the brothers. “But Sherlock, I don’t know what his plan is and I’d like him to tell me. Especially if I am to be protecting this girl until we find information regarding this cartel and their intentions”.

            With a huff Sherlock stood up to stare out the window as a fury of notes flew from the instrument. “You made a deal with Mrs. Hudson about the flat downstairs and you’re having _____ move into it. It’s larger and has more space for a studio and happens to be EXACTLY what she was looking for. You placed an ad of your invention in her mailbox so she would be sure to find it, but made sure to put the same ad in all mailboxes on the street so she would not suspect anything. Of course even if other people called in inquiring about the apartment you made sure Mrs. Hudson would only accept her. You can’t be bothered to have your men keep an eye on her so you’re trusting that job to John and I, hoping that you will not be bothered with this case again.” Quickly he turned to face the men sitting there. “Is there anything else you'd like to tell John?”

            “Wait what?” said John as his eyes got big. “She’s moving in downstairs? Oh god we have to clean this place up before we can invite her in!” In a flash he was up and tidying up the flat, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. The two brothers shared a look as Mycroft stood to leave, making sure he had his umbrella.

            He walked to the door, knowing he’ll see himself out, but stopped himself before closing it on the interesting pair. “Oh and Sherlock… she’s moving in tomorrow….” With a smirk he shut the door, knowing that statement would set off an argument between the two, smiling at the chaos that would ensue. It had all been easy to arrange this plan of his. With you downstairs, his brother and John could keep and eye on you while they searched for some more information regarding this cartel and their reasoning for targeting you. Until then, you’d be safe enough, though not from his brother of course. The world could never be safe from Sherlock Holmes sadly. A smile grew on his face as he drove back to his house. Maybe he could even get you to spy on Sherlock for him. This whole situation could be more beneficial than he initially thought.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

    I could not believe my luck. For months I had been searching for a larger flat that would give me more work space and a bigger studio. The moment I saw the ad i knew it was fate, or destiny, or honestly whatever you want to call it. It was perfect. The move would even be simple seeing as the flat was right down the street. Still close to the shops and places I frequented. Really, how could my luck get any better! And the price!!! The flat was larger and cheaper than what I was currently renting! Without wasting a moment, I grabbed your keys and purse and ran down the street to 221. Upon arrival I knocked on the door, the realization that I was still covered in paint and charcoal setting in. It was too late now, as the door opened and a kind older woman with grey hair greeted me.

 

    “Hello dearie. How can I help?”

 

    “Hi I’m _____ and I’m here to inquire about the flat for rent. 221C.”

 

    The older woman smiled and showed me into her flat so that she could ask some standard questions. I loved the feel of the building and instantly smelled the oolong tea steeping in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. Already I had taken a liking to her potential new landlord.

 

    “Well my dear why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself. Helps me get to know you and see if you’d be a good fit with the other tenants” said the woman in a gentle voice as she handed you a cup of warm tea.

 

    The warmth from the tea was a welcome feeling as it crept up my fingers, seeping through my bones and filling me with satisfaction. Once the two of us had settled on the couch I turned to her ready to answer her question. “I am an artist by profession. Love to do paintings, drawings, metal work… anything really. The act of creating something that allows me to express my emotions and capture a moment in time is wonderful. My income is rather steady even though most people can’t seem to believe that. I sell my work in local shops and I do commision work illustrating children's books for some of the local publishers meaning I always have a set income coming in to rely on. I love to listen to music or the telly while I work and it seems that every day life is what inspires my art.”

 

    Mrs. Hudson smiled, taking another sip of her tea. “You’ll have to show me some of your work. It sounds rather lovely. Especially that bit about the children’s books. Making kids happy and smiling.”

 

    “It really is wonderful. Doing the books allows me to play with that side of art while having a steady income. With my own paintings and drawings I can experiment with whatever I want.”I took a moment's breath and then decided to really try to sell myself for this flat. “I promise Mrs. Hudson to be a good tenant if you take me on. I don’t smoke and I barely drink. Respect is quite important to me and I understand boundaries. I’d even help with cleaning the stairs and landing if you’d wish.”

 

    Just as I was about to continue, the woman laid her hand on mine and smiled. “My dear, you sound lovely, and I believe you would be a perfect fit for us. You can have it as soon as you’d like.” It took all of my restraint to not jump up and do a celebratory dance right at that moment.

 

    “Oh my miss you are the best you really are!!” I allowed for a quick hug of my new land lady who’s smirk I missed during my celebration. Suddenly it dawned on me. “You said as soon as I’d like.. What does that entail?”    “Why tomorrow if you wish really. That flat’s been empty a while now and it’s finally been fixed up. It’s be anxiously awaiting its new owner and who am I to deprive it?”

 

    “But what about my current flat? I’ll have to get that settled with that owner”

 

    “Oh dear don’t you worry. We’ll cross that bridge tomorrow. Now why don’t we go take a look at your new home?” Gently, she grabbed my hand and led me out of her flat into the stairwell, over to a door that had 221C on it. My stomach was already doing flips from joy. Not quickly enough, she opened the door and let me walk into the space. The living room was actually quite large. Already I could picture where I’d place your different supplies and belongings. The kitchen was quaint and perfect in size. I was not an avid cook, but I liked to bake and cook more than I preferred to get take out and the appliances all seemed to be what I needed. The bathroom was small with just the basics, but I didn’t need anything else. Finally I went into the bedroom instantly smiling. By the window was a little reading nook and I could already invision myself there for hours sketching or drawing away with a hot cup of tea. I couldn't have asked for more.

 

    A small chuckle tore me from my planning, helping me remember the lady standing next to me. “I am so glad it’s to your liking. As I said, we can move your things in tomorrow if you’d like. You can even paint the walls however you want. I know white can be plain and stark, especially for a creative type like you.”

 

    Seriously, my luck could not improve. I felt as though I were going to burst with joy. Thanking Mrs. Hudson profusely and promising her that I’ll start moving in your items at 11am the next day, I ran out the door, already planning what colors I’d paint the walls and how I’d set up your new studio.

 

    The next morning I woke bright and early taking note of the boxes and supplies I’d packed last night and doing a quick inventory of paints. After that I made a quick breakfast of a bagel and orange juice, ate as fast as I could and then finished the rest of the packing I needed to do. The nice part about moving down the street was that the packing was very simple. I threw items into boxes and bags, knowing I could just tote them down the street quickly and efficiently. By 11am, everything was ready and I began carrying items over to my new flat. Mrs. Hudson had already unlocked the doors to make the move easier.

 

    Taking a short break I went and knocked on the door of Mr. Tuttle, my landlord for this flat. I wanted to settle any bills and pay and fees, especially since I was breaking the lease earlier than we had agreed on. He let me in and quickly stated that I owed nothing and everything was cleared. I’d been a star tenant, always paying rent on time and being helpful to the others who lived in the flat. This confused me, as I had broken your lease and expected to owe some time of payment, but I sighed, gave the man a hug and decided to ignore that little feeling in my head telling me there was more to this than I knew.

 

    Moving most of my items were easy, until I got to my larger items like my bed, dresser and multiple book cases. I stood on the steps of my old building, pondering how this was going to be done when a man walked up grab my attention.

 

    “Um.. Hi miss.. You might not remember me. We’ve met once or twice. My names John. John Watson. Noticed you have some large items to move.”

 

    Panic set in as I wracked my brain trying to remember a John. His face was familiar but I was horrid with names and it always caused issues. Quickly I recalled seeing the man a few times when I’d been running errands. Shorter man, blonde hair. Always said hello and seemed pleasant enough. He must have lived pretty close by which could work out in my favor. “Oh John! Hi. I’m _____” I said while shaking his hand. “Yeah I’m moving down the street today and most of my belongings are already in the new flat, but I forgot to plan for my larger things….”

 

    John gave me a smile. “Well, I think I can help you solve that problem if you’d like. They don’t look to heavy for the two of us.” Already he was looking at what needed carried and was seeing as to the best way to grab them.

 

    “Really? Oh that would really be great. I can treat you to dinner at Speedy’s after this if you’d like. It’s really awful kind of you.”

 

    “Sure. That sounds perfect”

 

    The two of us made quick work of bringing my items into my new flat, laughing and having conversation along the way. John explained he was a doctor who had served in the army for a time, lived with his flatmate and also happened to have a blog. I explained about my love of art and how I’d come to live in London even though I’d grown up in the United States. He was pretty easy to talk to and I were thankful to have a made a new friend. Soon the two of us found ourselves across the street having dinner at Speedy’s, laughing and sharing different stories about ourselves and our lives. Dinner went even faster and I found myself letting John walk me to my new flat. He seemed to know the area really well and I was curious where exactly he lived in relation to me.

 

    “John where exactly do you live? You definitely know the area well and the people at Speedy’s knew you.” I turned to him, noticing a red tinge take over his face.

 

    “Well, to tell you the truth ____ I live above you…. I live in 221B with my flatmate.”

 

    It seemed like he expected me to be angry over the fact he’d withheld this information but honestly, I was thrilled. A new friend and he lived in the same building as me? This really was the perfect day.. I smiled grabbing his wrist and making him face me. “Great. I’m glad to have a friend close by. Makes it easier too if I need a doctor at short notice.”

 

    Relief filled John as he realized he had not upset me. “Yeah. Scrapes, cuts, flu. Whatever I treat it all” he said with a laugh. As I was about to reply I heard what I thought was an explosion coming from upstairs. “Damnit. I’m sorry but I have to go. Sherlock probably blew up something of mine again. Come visit us tomorrow! Door’s always open! Nice meeting you!” and he was already up the stairs off to his flat and who knows what problem. Deciding to ignore my curiosity I walked into the new flat already planning which room I’d paint which color before I put my artistic skills to use.

 

    A soft knock roused me from my paint induced slumber. I’d worked so tirelessly into the night painting the walls and trim in a variety of colors that I wasn’t even sure when I had passed out on the couch in the middle of the living room. Taking a moment to stretch first, I walked to the door wondering who would be bothering me at this ungodly hour. Annoyance soon disappeared as I opened to door to reveal John standing there with tea and breakfast sandwiches.

 

    “I figured you didn’t have many groceries yet so I thought I’d come bearing breakfast” he said with a smile as he handed you a cup of tea.

 

    “Sure come on in. What time is it anyway?” I said as I led him to the couch. There was no response, but then I noticed John standing there staring around the room. It wasn’t as if I had done much to the flat. Just added some color and personality into it. My bedroom was a nice soft blue that was relaxing and calming. The bathroom now was a bright blue with white trim while I had kept the living room most white except for blue trim and I’d painted some basic land scapes on the walls to give it a bit of an outdoorsy feel. Not sure what to do, I gently tapped his arm. “John… are you ok?”

 

    “What? Oh yeah,” he said while shaking his head slightly. “It’s just… wow. Really beautiful. When did you even have time to do this?”

 

    I let out a small chuckle. “I did it last night. Mrs. Hudson said I could paint and I wanted to make it feel more at home, so I bought the paint the day she said I could have the flat.” Grabbing his hand I pulled him to the couch so that the two of us could eat together. It was only 10 in the morning so I hadn’t managed to sleep the day away, meaning more time to unpack and settle in. “So you saved me for breakfast, that I can tell you. Really didn’t have much food to bring from my old flat. Now that I think about it probably should do some shopping today so I don’t have to rely on the goodwill of my new neighbors.”

 

    The kind man finally regained his composure and started to eat his portion of the food. “We don’t mind helping out. Well... I don’t mind. Sherlock doesn’t really help others. He’s more self centered than that.”

 

    “Oh I bet he’s not that bad. I’d love to meet him today if-” Laughter erupted from John right then. “What is so funny?”

 

    “I’ve never heard someone so excited to meet Sherlock. He is a high functioning sociopath after all. Man is mental. Keeps body parts for his experiments in our fridge, explodes items in the flat constantly and loves to shoot bullet holes in the walls when he’s bored between cases. Every person he meets he observes and explains everything about their past and what they had for breakfast and what they’re thinking which is annoying. Most people give the man a wide berth.”

 

    A smile grew on my face as I thought of the artistic inspiration this strange man held and I craved to tap into it. “Actually now I’d love to meet him even more. Do you think he’d let me draw the body parts and experiments? They’d make for great material. I bet he’d be a great critic for my anatomical studies as well. I’ve been looking for someone to help strengthen my grasp of bone structure and proportion.” This time it was me laughing as I saw John’s jaw drop at my interest in meeting Sherlock. “Do you mind if I come up to your flat after I do my shopping? That way I can get to know my lovely new neighbors better. I mean I might as well, if I’m going to need to know why explosions are happening at random intervals.”

 

    The man could only get out a nod as more laughter trickled out of me. An amazingly priced flat that was perfect, a super sweet land lady and interesting neighbors? Life just kept getting better! Since the two of us had finished our breakfast, I grabbed my keys and jacket, walked John out and bid him goodbye as I headed to the store to grab the shopping.

 

    With the shopping done and put away I grabbed a sketchbook and pencil case and headed up to 221B. Standing in front of the door I took a deep breath, excited and nervous at the same time, then I knocked, not realizing that one knock would end up changing my life. John yelled letting me know it's open and I turned the door handle, walking into what seemed like the room of a mad man. Papers were stacked in piles on most of the surfaces. Experiments of different sizes and shapes covered the counters in the kitchen and various tables in the living room. Bookshelves lined the one wall, filled with what seemed to be mostly classics and those of the nonfiction genre. There seemed to be no order to the madness which was the flat and I loved it. It was already telling me little bits about Sherlock and John and their personalities.

 

    Taking a seat across from John I noticed that around his chair things were quite clean and orderly. His tea sat on the table next to him, newspaper folded neatly next to it. Even John’s appearance was very put together. I turned my head to the man on the couch who I understood to be this mysterious Sherlock. His hair was black and curly, all knotted like a rats nest. He wore pajamas and a bathrobe and seemed to have some type of substance on his right hand which was twitching in a very agitated manner. This would be interesting.

 

    “Ah ____ welcome to our flat. Pardon the mess. Sherlock has been making cleaning up absolutely impossible”, said John with a grimace at the curly haired man who just made a point to ignore him. Looking above him at the wall there was a smiley face made from bullet holes. I couldn’t help but smile.

 

    “Well hi Sherlock, I’m _____. I guess I don’t have to introduce myself since John told me you’re really good at observing, so I’ll skip that part. He also told me that you have experiments and a variety of body parts around the flat. I was wondering if I could sketch them. They’d make great material and would help me work on my anatomy.” At this the man finally looked at me, shock flitting across his face and being replaced by curiosity.

 

    “They’re mainly in the kitchen. Just don’t touch anything.”

 

    With a nod I skipped into the kitchen excited to see what my new subjects would be. On the counter there were a plethora of test tubes and beakers holding various substances and liquids. The refrigerator held a variety of body parts including, fingers, toes, muscle samples and a very nice looking brain. My  joy could hardly be contained as I sat on the floor instantly sketching away digits, paying close attention to how they were bent and the shading of them. The harsh kitchen light did them justice as I started filling page after page with various thumb nails and my own observations.

 

    During this time if I had been more aware of my surroundings, I would have noticed the two men staring at me in wonder as my pencil quickly flew across the pages capturing any detail I could. Never had they met someone so excited to see dead body parts in a fridge, let alone willing to stare at them for hours while drawing them.

 

    After a few hours of drawing, John had to come pry me from the kitchen with promises of food and tea. “_____ you have to eat. Can’t have you wasting away in our flat. Mrs. Hudson would kill us and tell us we’re horrible with guests. Eat some dinner and then you can go back into your weird trance.”

 

    Feeling a bit bad I apologized, “Sorry John. I tend forget how enthralled I get when working. I once went three days without sleep or food because I was so bent on finishing a drawing I had been working on. Was definitely worth it though. Still feel it’s one of my best works I’ve ever done.” As I sat down I noticed Sherlock staring at me. “Ask away Sherlock. Though I don’t know what you can’t seem to observe.”

 

    He stared at me before simply stating “You’re different.”

 

    A laugh bubble up again as I realized he was slightly perplexed by me. “Yes Sherlock. I am. Always have been. Always will be. Just like you I presume.”

 

    Instead of replying to me he turned to look at his flatmate stating “I like her. Let’s bring her on the next case” which caused John to choke on the sandwich he’d been eating.

 

    “Sherlock… did you just say you like her?”

 

    “Well of course platonically. I have no interest in a romantic relationship. They are just distractions from the important things in life. But she’s different and doesn’t annoy me. She can join us. Plus I’d like to see her work on a case. It could be interesting.”

 

    During this conversation I just sat there smiling. The great Sherlock Holmes had invited me to join him on a case. The past few days had been filled with things I never would have predicted, especially this, but I was so excited and happy for the coming adventures I hoped the three of us might go on together.

 


	3. Chapter 3

    Loud thumps abruptly woke me from my wonderfully deep sleep. Groggily I shuffled to the flat door, wondering who in the world needed my attention at this ungodly hour. Just as I opened the door Sherlock barged in already dressed to go out in the chilly morning.

    “Let’s go _____! We have a case!”

    “What?” I stood there stunned, not sure what was happening or how to deal with it. Thankfully John came to the rescue, walking into the flat and shoving the other man out into the hallway. 

    “Sorry _____. Seems Lestrade called Sherlock and has a case for him to look into. Sends the man into a chaotic high really. He’s essentially asking if you’d like to join us on the case. We’re going to go check out the crime scene right away.”

    Instantly my interests were peaked and any thoughts of sleep were wiped from my mind. Of course I wanted to go on a case with Sherlock and John. As fast as I could I threw on clothes, brushed my hair and teeth, grabbed a bagel and sketchbook and followed John out of the building to find Sherlock already waiting next to a cab. It was obvious the man did not have any patience especially when it came to cases. 

    The cab pulled up to a very nice development on the other side of the city. Various police vehicles and people populated the scene as onlookers tried to get a peek through the barricade into the building. I’d never been one to flock towards a crime or disaster. Typically when I saw yellow caution tape I gave it a wide berth so as to not get in the way of those trying to do their jobs, so it was a strange feeling when I followed John and Sherlock through the barricade towards the building.

    Inside a man with greying hair and a kind face was giving directions to different officers. As soon as he noticed us, he dismissed them and walked over to us. “Good Sherlock you’re here. Hello John good to see you. Oh, who is this?” he said looking towards me.

    With a groan Sherlock rolled his eyes and stated, “Who she is doesn’t matter. You did not ask me over here for pleasantries. I am here to solve a case which you idiots can’t ever seem to do.” 

    As he took another breath to continue, John spoke up interrupting his rant. “Hey Greg. Ignore him. This is _____. Recently moved into the flat below us so she’ll probably be around more often. _____ this is Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. He’s the one who contacts Sherlock when the Yard is having difficulty with a particular case.”

    “God yes we get it. Now I’m going to actually solve things if you are all too busy talking,” whined Sherlock as he walked off to an apartment down the hall. John had been right when he said that cases send Sherlock into a chaotic high. 

    Shaking my head I smiled at the DI and offered my hand. “Nice to meet you. Guess we’ll be seeing each other often in this case. Sorry about Sherlock, though I guess you’re used to that.”

    The man chuckled happy to see I was more amiable than the consulting detective. “Yeah he’s a bit bossy, but he’s good at what he does and John helps smooth things over and I don’t mind if I see you more often. You seem like an interesting woman being able to handle Sherlock and all.” 

    John laughed at this. “_____ was excited to see his experiments and the body parts in the fridge. She wanted to draw them.” Now Greg chuckled causing me to be slight embarrassed so I rushed after Sherlock.

    Upon entering the flaI was struck by how well kept it was. There was no sign of clutter or any trace that someone lived there. The place almost seemed like a show flat rather than one that was rented out. Every piece of furniture and art seemed to be meticulously chosen and placed exactly where it was intended to be. The taste seemed a bit ostentatious, as though the owner used the items to gain attention or approval. Noticing I was captivated by the decorating, John grabbed my arm and gently led me over to the office where a man lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around him seemed to come from a large head wound. The dark red against the light cream carpet. It was such a weird juxtaposition, this bit of chaos amidst perfection and order. 

    Once the two of us were beside Sherlock I began taking in the scene in more detail. The office, like the rest of the flat was well planned and thought out, but showed signs of use. Bookcases filled with a variety of books, files and memorabilia lined a wall while another wall held professionally done photos along with various awards and degrees. Various papers and files were scattered on the desk among invoices and notices. A jacket was haphazardly slung over the back of the desk chair and was slightly wrinkled. It was obvious the occupant of this room was not as much a fan of order. 

    The sound of heavy steps brought me from my deep thoughts causing me to turn and see Lestrade standing on the other side of John. “Man’s name is Garrett Forsythe. 46 years old. Seems to have been killed by a hit with a blunt object on the back of the head. Had one ex-wife and one child who is currently studying law at Oxford. So Sherlock, what happened? Forensics ran through and we can’t seem to find any fingerprints. There are no signs of breaking or entering and nothings seems to be taken. What do you see that we can’t?”

    For a few moments Sherlock stood there in silence, but suddenly spoke “Older man who is very successful and married at a young age. Him and his ex wife divorced after problems involving money and family. She did not like his obsession with his job, which only started because he could not stand how controlling she was in the home. They fought over every little thing until he had enough and demanded a divorce. The wife gave in figuring he would come back to her eventually as you can see by the small stack of unopened letters on the bookcase.” Turning, you then noticed the stack of letters laying there. Some seemed to be opened but most of them were left as is. Upon further inspection by some officers, it was found that they were indeed from his ex wife. “Obviously he had no plans to do so. He was free from her control and perfection. Out there is all order and everything is meticulously planned. This office was the one place he felt he could breathe and let go.”

    “If they’re divorced why did not change the rest of the flat to fit his tastes?” asked John not sure where Sherlock was getting this.

    “The divorce was only recent, and because of his obsession with his job he practically lives in his office, only coming home once or twice a week. If you look in the bathroom there are very few clothes in the hamper and in the bedroom most of the things are missing to the point it seems sparse and barely lived in. He also still has a tan line from where his wedding ring would have recently been. The rest of the house only has just started collecting small amounts of dust meaning it has not been long since she has moved out of the flat. He probably had just arrived home earlier this morning since nothing seems to be out of place besides the keys on the table in the living room and the tie next to it.”

    Once again Sherlock groaned “It had to be the wife… but why?”

    As he started muttering to himself I slowly walked over to the desk curious what kind of papers were on it. They all seemed to be of a legal kind, which meant the man was probably some sort of lawyer or legal counsel. There were files, background checks and lists of various clients and appointments. Using my pencil I gently pushed aside the documents on top wondering what others lay beneath. There were a couple files on various cases the man must have been working on, a few email print outs and things that didn't seem to be important. It was then I noticed an email about a holiday booking. Upon closer inspection it was a booking and itinerary for a holiday in the British Virgin Islands for two. Why would a man be booking a vacation for two people, especially after he was recently divorced? It just didn’t make sense. 

    It was then I was hit by an interesting thought. “Hey Greg, did the man have a phone on him?”

    “Um… yeah why?” said a curious Lestrade

    “Do you mind if I look at it?”

    “Sure, one moment.” He had another officer bring me the phone of the dead man. It was password protected, but I was sure that wouldn’t be too hard. Most people tended to use important dates or numbers as their passwords so it would be easier for them to remember. Walking back over to his desk I flipped through his calendar looking for any dates that seemed to stand out. There were various office meetings and dinners but they couldn’t be important enough. A smile came across my face when I came upon his daughters birthday. Sure the guy couldn’t stand his ex wife, but that didn’t mean he hated his daughter. Deciding to take a chance I punched in her birthday and smiled when the phone unlocked. Quickly I went to his messages, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Most were conversations between various coworkers and there was one lovely text from his ex wife using colorful language to chew him out. Just as I was starting to think it was all for naught I came across messages with a coworker that definitely had nothing to do with work. 

    “I got it!” I cheered, surprising the others in the process. “Um.. Sorry.. I just figured out why he was killed is all.”

    Instantly Sherlock was at my side, wondering what I had seen that he hadn’t. “What do you mean? It’s impossible!”

    “Not really. Saw that he had a holiday for two booked. In his phone messages you can see that he was in a relationship with a coworker and they were planning on going away together.”

    It was John’s turn to now look confused. “But wasn’t his phone locked?”

    “Well yeah, but that was easy. The password was his daughter’s birthday. Obviously wouldn't be the ex’s if he can’t stand her and the man didn’t seem vain enough to use his own.” The three men were stunned, not sure what to say or how to respond which concerned me. “Did I do something wrong? I’m really sorry if I did. Just thought it might help since we were stuck on the why.”

    Suddenly John was hugging me assuring me that I was bloody brilliant while Greg was patting my back congratulating me on a job well done. I was more concerned with Sherlock though, afraid I might have stepped on his toes and stolen any of the limelight he so loved, but the moment I turned to look at him he just smiled, nodding slightly. That most likely was the moment Sherlock decided I was definitely worth keeping around. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

    Sherlock huffed at John and I to hurry up as he walked over to the crime scene. This had become common for me as I’d now been living in 221C for a few weeks. Ever since my help with that first case, Sherlock had insisted I come along as often as possible which honestly I didn't mind. A sort of rhythm had come into my life that I simply adored. I had the steadiness of my work and art and the chaos that came with knowing Sherlock and John. Like John, I was able to understand Sherlock and tolerate his eccentricities which made it easier now that there were two people who understood how to deal with his mood swings and insane demands. So far he’d already woken me up in the middle of the night 7 times, used me as an unwilling experiment participant 2 times, and by the end of my first week there, I already knew how he took his tea and what food he prefered if he actually was hungry.

 

    There were also the bonuses of the two men enjoying how I handled various situations with Anderson, Sally, and some of the less pleasant officers. Upon first meeting, they decided to call me a freak and a few other choice names, to which I just punched Anderson and told Sally that his wife knew about the affair they were having. Sherlock laughed more that day than John had ever thought possible.

 

    Ducking under the yellow tape and following Lestrade into the building I looked around taking in the architecture of the building. Poor thing had to have been built in the 1700’s but was now dilapidated and on verge of ruin. Eventually we came to a body laying there on the floor, still as a marble statue.

 

    “Man’s name is Andrew Sanders. 37 years old. The neighbor found him when came to check on him after noticing he hadn’t been seen for a few days.”

 

    Already, Sherlock was taking in the entire scene, going through all the data in his mind palace which I knew would not take him long so I decided to start drawing the deceased. As morbid as this was, it was a good way to work on quickly capturing tiny details and working on body proportion. Poor man was pale and cold with a large head wound which was obviously his demise. Seemed simple enough of a case really. Man was painting his walls when he lost his balance on the ladder, fell, and smashed his head on the corner of his desk. For some reason though Lestrade had called Sherlock in, not fully convinced this was an accident.

 

    I was mostly finished capturing the crime scene on paper when I heard Sherlock turn, insist John and I follow, and walk back outside. “Surprised you actually called me for this George seeing as how Scotland Yard is so inept. You were actually smart on this one. Wasn’t an accident but murder.”

 

    Poor Lestrade was trying to keep up with Sherlock, jogging after him as the curly haired main was in the middle of hailing a cab. “It’s Greg. And not all of Scotland Yard are imbeciles Sherlock.”

 

    “Whatever. Murder made to look like an accident. Man was having an affair with the neighbors wife. Husband found out and decided to confront him. They fought and in his anger he pushes this Sanders causing him to fall and smash his head. He’s been hiding at his place of work, which you’ll find is the local CPA. He’s an assistant there. Case closed. We’re leaving” said Sherlock as he slid into the taxi. I smiled apologetically at Lestrade, knowing Sherlock treated him like crap even though the man was actually quite competent and slid in after my two flatmates.

 

    The ride back to the flat was quite and calm. John was staring out his window thinking about who knows what. Sherlock was in his mind palace contemplating anything really and I was drawing Sherlock’s thinking face, entertained by how deep in thought he was.

 

    Upon arrival I decided to go into my own flat giving the men their space. It’d been a few days since I had painted and I wanted to do some watercolor studies. There was a section in the local park that had the most gorgeous flowers blooming lately and I knew they would be the most perfect subjects. Grabbing my supplies and a bag of chips I left the building walking to find the bench I had come to think of as my own. As I sat down I tugged my jacket a little tighter, attempting to keep the wind out. Though the weather was cold the sun was still shining and the flowers were begging to be painted. Soon I was already sketching out basic compositions before putting my paints to good use, capturing the natural beauty the various flora had.

 

    It was almost dark by the time I decided to pack up my things, knowing that soon it would be time for dinner and the two men would be wondering where I was. I was content, knowing I had got a good amount of work in andI was pleased with what I had painted. As I started walking back to the flat my gut clenched, intuition picking up that something was off. Gripping the bag closer, I shook my head trying to ignore the nagging feeling and walked faster making sure not to look around frantically but also be wary of my surroundings. Attempting to breathe evenly, I wracked my brain trying to remember every karate and self defense lesson, but internally groaned when it all jumbled together creating a mess of nothing. About a block away from the flat I noticed audible footsteps behind me and the feeling in my gut intensified. It was then I began to run, not caring if I alerted whoever was behind me that I was onto them. I felt a hand grab my coat, causing me to scream. Turning, I thrashed and kicked at whoever it was, knocking them to the ground. Sprinting with all my might I managed to get to the building and slam the door closed quickly, shoving the lock in place, panting heavily while wondering what the hell had happened.

 

    Sure there was crime in London and there were people willing to do unsavory things to get by in life, but it had never something I worried about. I tried to do my best and keep my nose out of trouble because trouble was definitely something I couldn’t afford. Once I had somewhat caught my breath I knew that I couldn’t handle being alone right now so I ran up into the boys’ flat startling them as I stood there, tears on my face. John was already up running guiding me to the chair to check me for injuries while Sherlock stood up surprised, trying to deduce what had happened and how he could help.

 

    “What happened?? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Questions poured from John’s mouth as he took off my coat and tried to get some answers. As much as Sherlock wanted to deduce what happened and fix it, he was struggling to actually get anything from me. It was as if I were blocking him accidentally and this frustrated him beyond measure. All he could see was the calluses on my hands from my constant painting and drawing. The hints of paint and charcoal on my face and neck from where I’d pushed my hair out of my face while deeply concentrating on my art. The smell of my lavender body wash somewhat calming his mind even though he knew he should be helping me.

 

    “I…. I went to paint in the park to paint. Knew it was getting to dinner time…. Packed up and started coming home.” I had to breathe deep and close my eyes to prevent a panic attack from setting in. “Felt something… my gut… felt something was off. Walked faster… got scared… started running to the flat…” Again tears slowly went down my face as I relived what had just happened. “Someone grabbed my coat, tried to restrain me….. I kicked and thrashed… knocked them down… and then rain to the building locking the door.”

 

    The two men stared at each other in silence knowing that before anything I needed to be calmed. John stood, grabbing my supplies and putting them aside. Even though none of this compared to what he went through in the army, he knew the terror I’d be feeling if I was left alone. “Let me get you some tea ______. It’ll warm you and help calm you. Meanwhile why don’t you sleep on the couch in here”

 

    “No, she’ll take my bed. It’s warmer and more comfortable. What she needs is to rest and no one can very well do that on this uncomfortable couch.”

 

    Both John and I whipped our heads to look at Sherlock. The man had just offered me his bed…. Sherlock Holmes. A man who cared for almost no one. Not able to question him and just wanting comfort I let them lead me to his room, help me into bed and promise that they’d leave the door open.

 

    “We’re right outside in the living room okay? If you need us let us know. I’ll make you some tea awhile. Try to get some rest and relax,” said John while Sherlock pulled the up the covers. Fatigue taking over now that I’d relaxed some, I snuggled into the blankets and pillow smiling when I noticed everything smelled like Sherlock. Scents of paper, Jaffa cakes, and his cedar soap mixed together, lulling me to sleep before John could return with my cup of tea.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

    The day had been typically busy for Mycroft. The morning had started off with a lengthy meeting involving a variety of negotiations to prevent an attack on the British consulate in Russia while the afternoon consisted of a lengthy amount of paperwork and phone calls. Being the British Government was not an easy task, but he was glad to give everything for Queen and country. He had just sat down in his study with some whiskey and a slice of cake when his cell phone went off, interrupting his relaxing time. Internally groaning he reached for it, but his eyes widened when he read the text.

 

    “I need your help. ____ was attacked. Come now.” The fact that his brother had asked for his help was most surprising thing of all. His brother almost never asked for help, but when he did, he knew that it was dire. Thoughts of his chocolate cake gone, Mycroft grabbed his coat and umbrella, quickly calling his driver to rush him to the flat. On the short drive there his mind was still racing. His brother had asked for help because  ____ had been attacked. Had his brother come to care for you? If so, he would have to remind him that caring is not an advantage.

 

    Quickly getting out of the car and jogging up the stairs, he entered the flat shouting “What in the hell!” to which his brother and John turned and shushed him while glaring intensly. Glaring back he went and took a seat on the couch so he could get a good look at the men. John sat there with a look of worry on his face which frankly did not surprise him. The man always seemed worried or upset over the slightest thing. What really surprised him was the fear in his brothers eyes. The last time he had seen that fear was after Moriarty had kidnapped John and put an explosive vest on him. With what he deemed an appropriate inside voice he asked “What in the hell has happened?”

 

    Again he was surprised when his brother answered his fear and hatred in his voice. “_____ was attacked because you apparently have failed to do your job of solving her case. I know she isn’t Queen or Country but I at least figured you’d try to get something on her being targeted. Apparently I was right all along knowing you couldn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

 

    “Well brother mine other things have come up, like stopping a potential World War and other crises of a global importance.”

 

    This time John was the one who spoke. “She might not be important to you Mycroft, but she is to us.”

 

    “You’ve known the girl for a month and she is suddenly someone you care about? John I understand, but you Sherlock? Surely you remember caring is not an advantage.” He had to remind him. Caring only created weakness. Look where it had gotten him with John. He couldn’t let your brother get hurt because he had come to care for a female as well.

 

    “I did not ask for this Mycroft, but I can’t help it. She’s so kind, strong and so bloody brilliant. ____ has seen things on cases that I didn’t. It’s like she sees the world is a whole different way.”

 

    “Didn’t help she also encourages your experiments and punched Anderson the first time he made fun of her,” said John as a chuckle escaped.

 

    Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears. “I never thought I’d see the day my brother fell in love. Mother will be delighted.”

 

    At this his brother scoffed, throwing him the dirtiest of looks. “No brother. Mother will have to continue to pine for grandchildren from someone else. I don’t feel those things. It’s like she’s a little sister. All I want to do is protect her.”

 

    “Aye,” said John “Even I don’t want to date her, though I have no problem killing anyone who hurts her in the slightest.”

 

    Who were you that you had turned his brother into this protective bodyguard, so full of emotion? “You said she sees things that you don’t? Like what?”

 

    Now Sherlock smiled along with John. “During the first case I took her on, she was the one who ended up solving it. I had known it was the ex wife, but I didn’t know why. ____ was the one who found the passcode and the messages showing he was in a new relationship. She was the one who had found the evidence to prove the ex-wife had killed him out of jealousy and spite.”

 

    Once again John spoke up. “She also loves to draw. Bloody brilliant at it. She’s been using the bits of Sherlock’s experiments and the body parts in the fridge to practice her anatomy. Woman can capture a crime scene with damn good accuracy too.”

 

    With a sigh you tried to change the subject. “I get that you two are taken with her. Now can we explain how she was attacked and what caused you to demand my presence here?” Listening to them go on and on about a female was not only annoying, but it piqued your interest. How had you gotten his brother to care so much? You wanted to know, yet at the same time you didn’t.

 

    Sherlock and John quickly explained how you had been heading home from the park when someone had tried to abduct you. Thankfully you had the intuition to fight back and run to the flat to get help. Apparently you were not hurt but the ordeal had been a strain mentally so you were sleeping in his brothers bed.

 

    “Wait… what? She’s in your bed?” Mycroft asked in amazement.

 

    “Well she bloody well couldn’t sleep on the couch. Most uncomfortable thing.” said Sherlock like it was the most base fact. “She needed rest. Woke up once and John gave her tea and she went right back to sleep.”

 

    “Alright. Seems as though I need to take this more seriously brother mine. Did she happen to see who it was who grabbed her?”

 

    “No, but we already checked and there are security cameras from Speedy’s that are bound to have something on them. John went out and they are pointing in that direction, so there is a high possibility that we can get something off of them.” His brother was right. Even a basic description would be a welcome start into this case.

 

    Mycroft stood, preparing to leave. “Well I will get my people on this and will return tomorrow at 10am with some more details. See if you can get any other information out of her will you?” Just as he was about to walk to the door a cry came from his brothers room. Instantly Sherlock and John were running and curious he followed.

 

    Inside the room the two flatmates sat on each side of a blue haired girl who was crying softly. Blue hair? Your picture in the case file showed you had h/c hair.

 

    Again he was surprised to see such concern on his brother’s face as he asked you if you were ok and if there was anything they could do. His brother had never been one to dote and show concern. John sat on the other side of you checking you over quickly, his doctor side kicking in. It seemed you were trying to push them away whispering quietly enough that he could not make out what you were saying. Once you seemed to quell them, you lay back down holding close to his brother’s pillow and seemed to fall back to sleep instantly.

 

    The men followed Mycroft out into the living room, now more on edge. “I know she insists she’s ok but I keep waiting for her to have a panic attack or anything. Besides the initial panic right after the attack and the few cries in her sleep she’s been insistent she’s fine and just needs sleep,” said the doctor as he shook his head.

 

    “Well, brother mine, I will take my leave and go. As I said earlier, I’ll be here tomorrow to go over this in detail. Goodnight.” With that he walked back outside to his car, ordering the driver to head back to his house. On the drive back he called Anthea, telling her to get the security camera footage from the cafe and to look into the local drug cartels and their movements. He knew if he put any of this off he would face Sherlock’s wrath the next day and he had to stay in his good graces occasionally.

 

    It was 10am sharp when Mycroft knocked on the door to 221B. Thankfully there had been some progress so Sherlock would not be too disappointed. John opened the door interrupting Mycroft’s thoughts and ushered him through the doorway to the couch. There Mycroft took took off his coat, laid his umbrella at his feet and put his briefcase on the table in front of him. He opened it and got out a few stills from the security camera, showing _____ being followed by a man wearing all dark clothing. Sherlock and John took their respective seats and waited for Mycroft to begin. “There hadn’t been much from the cameras as they did not point to where she had actually been grabbed, but this was better than nothing and right now I have men working on figuring out who this man was and who he was affiliated with. They’re looking into if it was an isolated incident or if it is actually related to the drug cartel you say is targeting her. We won’t know for a few days so I suggest you keep a closer eye on her while we wait for information.”

 

    Sherlock shook his head aggravated. “No it is connected. I know this. They have reason and motive, though we don’t know exactly what that is, but it definitely was them. What do you know about the movements of the local cartels? Have any of them given indication of planning something big?”

 

    “No there’s nothing so far. The only one that might be planning anything is the Zatarra Cartel. Their leader was released from prison around six months ago and they have had ample time to plan anything, but there seems to be no movement from them. We expected it to increase, but it’s almost as though they’ve stopped. Sure there’s been some small scale stuff, but nothing of note. Are you positive this is connected to a cartel?”

 

    His brother turned and glared at him. “Yes it has to be.”

 

    “Well I am the smarter one brother mine.” Mycroft said shaking his head. “Have you informed her about her target status or are you going to let her pretend life is perfect?” He would assumed his brother had told ____ about the cartel being after her to make guarding her easier, but from the look in Sherlock’s eyes, he had not.

 

    “No. I don’t want her to live in fear. I will not tell her until it’s necessary.”

 

    “And you don’t think that her being attacked makes it necessary? Caring has warped your mind Sherly”

 

    “It’s Sherlock and maybe it has, but I can’t stop the fact that I care for a select number of people now. All I can do is embrace it and learn how to do it properly.”

 

    Mycroft looked over to see John trying his hardest to stay out of the brothers’ argument. He knew the doctor was not a fan of him, especially after he had kidnapped the man and tried to bribe him to spy on Sherlock. Deciding that this fight was not worth his time, he sighed “John get me some tea.”

 

    The poor doctor’s face was turning red with anger and it seemed he was contemplating what words to rip Mycroft apart with when the flat door opened and you walked in. You were dressed plainly with basic blue jeans and an oversized t-shirt covered in paint. Your hair fell gently to your shoulders with a few wisps slightly hiding your e/c eyes.

 

    “Hey guys do you have a few eggs I can use? I seriously need to do shopping again.” Surprise came across your face as you noticed Mycroft sitting in the chair. “Oh. I’m sorry I didn’t know you guys had a client. I’ll just pop into the kitchen quick, grab what I need and leave.”

 

    Sherlock stood and shook his head. “It’s fine he’s not a client, plus he’s leaving.”

 

    Now Mycroft stood knowing it was a social custom to politely introduce oneself. “Good morning. I’m Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother.”

 

    Confusion now flitted across your face as you stared back and forth between the two men. Mycroft could see you comparing the two Holmes boys. Sherlock with his curly black hair and deep brown eyes. Mycroft with his straight brown hair and piercing steel-grey eyes. He watched as you noticed that they both shared the same facial structure and the same mannerisms. “Sherlock, you never told me you have a brother!” You extended your hand for a handshake. “Hi! I’m ____. I live in the flat downstairs. Nice to meet you!” Surprisingly your handshake was firm and strong rather than the flimsy ones most females tended to have. Quickly your attention went back to the flatmates. “So I’m just gonna use a few eggs for breakfast. If you guys want I can cook for all of us. I have bacon downstairs and we can do eggs in a basket. Of course I’ll have to move some of your experiments off the stove Sherlock, but I promise not to do anything to them!” His brother shook his head then insisted he’d move them for you so that you wouldn’t accidentally destroy anything. “I’m not THAT clumsy Sherly, but if it makes you sleep better you can move them.” Your head whipped back to face Mycroft. “You’re invited for breakfast as well Mycroft, though I know you’re probably busy being the government employee you are.”

 

    He quirked his eyebrows at you noticing you used the same nickname for his brother that he did. “Oh.. Sorry I forget that not everyone sees things like me. You have a super nice suit that is well pressed and wrinkle free meaning you have some type of office job. Your briefcase is open on the table and some of the file names seem to be government related and definitely not something the average person should know about judging from the fact there are some coded papers in there as well. You also arrived in a well armoured black car that had a driver. The average person doesn’t go around London like that. They either walk or take a cab. So that had to mean you’re a government worker of some type. Also knowing your relation to Sherly you probably are super smart like him and any country would love to have a brain like that at their disposal.” John and Sherlock shared a look, smiling incredibly large as if they were proud parents.

 

    “You’re actually quite right my dear. I do hold a minor position in the British Government.” he said but was interrupted by John laughing and Sherlock snorting.

 

    “Minor,” scoffed his brother. “He IS the British Government. Brain is like a never ending storage cell and he’s very useful when it comes to tactical crisis.” You held slight surprise on your face realizing how important Mycroft actually was.

 

    “However you see it brother mine. I actually was more surprised that she uses the same nickname for you that I do, but you don’t seem to mind when she does it.”

 

    Now John was laughing as you looked slightly panicked “Oh Sherlock you should have told me! I don’t wanna upset you!”

 

    “No worries ____. I only let you call me that. Anyone else can just call me Sherlock. Now brother you must be leaving. Queen and Country wait for no one,” he said while trying to usher his brother out the door.

 

    You came over though and grabbed the curly haired man  gently by the wrist. “But Sherly, maybe he needs a break. Everyone needs one now and then.”

 

    He turned to you frustrated but John was the one who answered. “He doesn’t really take breaks _____. He’s the Ice Man. Only things he is worried about are Queen and Country and if his tea is made right. Really could care less about anyone but himself. He’s not like Sherlock. Just let him go. It’s better this way.” The disdain in John’s voice slightly bothered Mycroft but not enough to have him respond.

 

    Hurt flitted across your face, causing his heart to clench for some reason, but was quickly replaced with a smile. “Alright then. It’ll just be us Three Musketeers then! Bye Mycroft. Pleasure to meet you!” she said, and with that she skipped into the kitchen to start prepping breakfast. Mycroft nodded his head and left the flat, not quite sure how he felt about John’s hatred for him or the hurt his demeanor seemed to cause you. He knew that John was biased and sided with his brother, but he had his reasons. Caring was not an advantage. He did not want to get hurt unnecessarily and with his job he made many enemies meaning anyone he cared about would become a target that could easily bring him and the country down. He had a reason for being the Ice Man and he was not about to change that for any goldfish.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

    It took another week of investigating and having his people do some serious digging to find out who exactly the manin the photo was. Seems he was a piece of muscle for the Zatarra Cartel meaning his brother had in fact been annoyingly right. This would only stroke Sherlock’s ego making him more difficult to deal with. With a sigh Mycroft took a sip of his tea while staring at his laptop. Seems the man had been working for the cartel for approximately 4 months meaning he was still low on the totem pole and was mainly just a grunt. The fact they sent someone with so little experience meant they had assumed ____ would be easy to subdue. Apparently you were not. Mycroft’s mind now started to think about the woman who had so easily gotten his brother to put aside caution and care for you. From what his brother said you were quite smart, though obviously not on par with any Holmes. He was curious about who you really were. Your file said you were just a regular goldfish who worked as an artist, but why would a cartel have any interest in you?There had to be something you were hiding. Did you mean to target Sherlock and hurt him?

 

    After a quick call to his brother he had Anthea clear his schedule for the day and ordered his driver to come pick him up. Grabbing his umbrella and briefcase he walked outside to see it was once again raining and quickly got into the car. On the drive to his brother’s flat he watched the rain drip down the window as he tried to understand you were a target.

 

    Upon arrival he was slightly stunned to find a blue haired woman dancing in front of the building while Sherlock and his friend were trying to get you to come inside. It was an interesting sight to see this goldfish dancing around in the rain as if you had not just been attacked a week prior. While you spun he noticed your sleeve slide down partially revealing what seemed to be a tattoo that looked like flowers and it was then he noticed that you had a variety of tattoos on your arms. The look on your face was one of pure bliss which confused him. How was getting soaked to the bone such a pleasing thing? He watched you dance for a few more minutes until the two men managed to bring you back inside to the warmth of the flat.

 

    Entering the building a few minutes later he walked up to 221B and knocked. Surprisingly it was ____ who answered the door and not his brother’s flatmate. You had changed into what seemed to be John’s clothes and had a towel in her hand to wring out your hair. “Oh hey Mycroft. Come on in” you said while leading him into the flat. You plopped down on the couch, tossing the towel onto the floor and picked up a sketchbook and pencil. Sherlock walked out of his room glaring at his brother as John came in bringing tea for him and ____.

 

    “Brother mine what are you doing here? Please leave now.”

 

    “Sherly” you warned throwing him a pointed look to which Sherlock just sighed and sat down in his chair.

 

    “Fine. How can we help you?” he said in a boring tone before turning to you to insist you drink her tea. “If you get sick I am not responsible for helping you. I don’t do taking care of sick people. That’s John’s occupation.” You stuck your tongue out at him and threw the damp towel at his face giggling. A chill ripped through Mycroft as you laughed. It was a pleasant sound, almost intoxicating, but as soon as he thought that, he shook his head to wipe them away. He wasn’t sure where that feeling had come from but it was gone now and that’s what mattered.

 

    “My people have recovered more information pertaining to ____’s attacker.” At this Sherlock and John quickly looked over at the woman on the couch.

 

    “Guys, I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to treat me like a child. Plus I’d like to know what he wanted. Would be a nice thing to understand you know?” You took a sip of your tea and turned towards Mycroft. “So, let us hear it.”

 

    “Man’s name is Mark White. He’s been part of the Zatarra Cartel for the past few months. He’s a grunt only used as muscle for basic jobs and doesn’t seem to know much about the inner workings of the cartel yet. He’s been in and out of prison for a variety of offenses varying from robbery to assault with a deadly weapon. People are currently looking for him so that he can be interrogated more about why he went after you and what information he has about the cartel.”

 

    Taking a deep breath you said “So why would a cartel grunt be after me? I don’t have a lot of money and I’m not of any high social standing or importance. All I had on me that day were basic art supplies and I assume you can’t get much for them on the black market.”

 

    “That my dear is what I would like to know.”

 

    Sherlock was now giving him a look that could have killed. Mycroft knew they did not want you to know about the cartel and their target on your back, but you needed to know for your own good and for his investigation into your character. What if you actually were involved with something unsavory?

 

    The blue hair around you seemed to be on fire as you gasped while looking intently at the oldest Holmes. “Oh… so.. You think there’s a reason they came after me. You don’t think it was random.” Just as he was about to answer, Sherlock cut him off turning to face ____.

 

    It was almost comical watching Sherlock struggle to find words. This was the first and only time the curly haired man had ever had an issue with this. “____…”

 

    Your e/c eyes blazed with anger, now realizing things had been hidden from you. “Tell me Sherlock or so help me I will end you.” It was interesting seeing a weak goldfish try to threaten my brother.

 

    “A few days before you moved into the flat, I was on a case for Lestrade when I noticed people from the cartel hanging around the area and I discovered who their next target would be.”

 

    “Me,” you said without any emotion.

 

    “Yes. You. I’d contacted Mycroft and informed him about what was happening. I did not know why you were being targeted, but John decided he wanted to protect you. I honestly had no interest in helping you besides passing the case over to my brother, but you ended up moving in downstairs and that first day I met you, I saw how different like me you were and I wanted to help you genuinely. I wanted to protect you. And that grew even more after you helped solve our first case together.”

 

    E/c eyes narrowed turning to look at each of them in turn and then landed on Mycroft. “You…. you made it so I could move in downstairs… It wasn’t luck or anything. You’re the reason everything seemed so easy and perfect.”

 

    He nodded. “Yes. It was easier to have John watch over you if you were in the same building and I would not have a need to place any agents outside to watch the building.”

 

    Now John spoke up, already seeing the direction this was heading. “We didn’t tell you about the target on you because we didn’t want to worry you. We just wanted you to be happy and live without fearing for your life.”

 

    Quickly ____ stood up glaring daggers at all three men. “Oh… to protect me? You messed with my life and well being to protect me? How well did you protect me by keeping me in the dark when I was attacked anyway? Huh? Your plan worked spectacularly!” With each sentence your voice raised and more anger seeped into the words.Your head whipped to face Mycroft, glaring daggers at him. “And you! You have the gull to go around changing people’s lives and things just because you don’t want to spare a few men to protect them? And you’re the British Government? I feel sorry for England! Now I understand why John said you are the Ice Man. Did you think I was involved with them as well? A threat to the country that you could put right under your nose to keep a better eye on? You don’t even know me! You have no idea what I have been through or what I’ve gone through in life to get where I am today. No wonder Sherlock hates you!” Without a moment's notice your ran out of the flat slamming the door, blue hair trailing behind you. The men could hear you run into your flat then quickly leave the building to go out into the soggy dusk.

 

    John was already putting on shoes and a coat to run after this female. “I swear to God Mycroft I will kill you if she catches her death out there!” he screamed as he too ran out of the flat to go find her.

 

    Mycroft still sitting, turned to look at Sherlock. His brother seemed more livid now than he had ever seen. “You truly are a despicable being! I refuse to call you my brother! I’m going to look for her and when we come back you better be gone! I don’t even know why I thought I could trust you. Now she’s out there in the dark with a damn drug cartel after her! I swear to god if anything happens to her I will gladly join John in ruining you.” Sherlock grabbed his trench coat and hat and he too ran out of the flat to find you.

 

    Not sure how to react, Mycroft stared around his brother’s flat. It was amazing how the presence of this woman had not only changed his brother but also the place he lived. Sketches of both men were randomly placed on various surfaces. The areas where Sherlock experimented were actually clean and well ordered. Things seemed to actually have a place and not be thrown willy nilly. The flat had changed from chaos to organized chaos. Obviously he had thought he was doing the right thing by having you find out about the target on your back and he was naturally suspicious of anyone able to change his brother so drastically. With a sigh he collected his things and left the flat walking slowly towards the front door when he noticed the door to 221C was slightly ajar. It seemed that in her anger and haste ____ had not fully shut the door. Turning to leave he stopped mid step, curiosity getting the best of him, and made a one eighty to your flat. You must already hate him with all your heart so a bit of observing could not make it any worse.

 

    As he walked into your flat he was taken aback by the amount of color. Not only were all the walls painted but on the one living room wall he saw you had painted a lovely landscape that looked like something you’d see in New Zealand. Rolling hills, large imposing mountains, welcoming forests. It was a breathtaking view you had created. Upon closer inspection he saw book cases filled to the brim with all varieties of books and what seemed to be a catalog of past sketchbooks. On the coffee table in the living room a few sketches of Sherlock, John and various London landmarks were haphazardly laid out. In the corner of the room there was an easel with a lovely watercolor piece in the works and a laptop next to it, which had a screensaver of the three of them after what he assumed was solving a case. John and you smiling largely while Sherlock was rolling his eyes but his face held a hint of a smile. There were various art pieces placed around the room in different forms of completion. The entire scene felt welcoming and warm, a large contrast from his own white and meticulously designed house.

 

    Besides the pictures of John and Sherlock, the flat was void of any photos of other people. There were no family or friends or heirlooms which meant that you had no family and friends that were deemed important. The calendar hanging on the wall had a list of important meetings and appointments with clients and the publishing company but nothing else. Even though your flat told part of your story, he knew you were right when you said he had just assumed he knew who she was. He had never tried to get to know you because he automatically placed this woman in the same category as the almost everyone else.

 

    Deciding he had done enough today, he walked back outside into the waiting black car and instructed his driver to head to the Diogenes Club. Up until now he had never questioned any action or choice he had made. Each one had been made without a sliver of doubt and even if others got hurt, it had never upset him. He knew that Sherlock’s and his relationship was a strained one and he tried in his own way to protect the younger Holmes. Sure, he expected Sherlock and John to dislike his actions today, but what he did not expect was the ache in his heart caused by your reaction. The pure hatred and hurt on your face was etched into his mind and did not seem like it would dissipate any time soon. What he needed was a quiet night at the club while whiskey kept him company.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

    I’d never truly understood the definition of “blind rage” until it clicked that I had walked God knows where in London and now seemed to be lost. This area of the city was new to me and honestly none of the street signs jogged anything in my brain. On top of that the rain was steady and John’s clothes were doing very little to keep me dry. In my anger I had only grabbed my jacket and not my umbrella or even my cell phone, which I was regretting very much. Cold and very drenched, I knew that I had to find shelter but I did not feel comfortable barging into the few shops that seemed to be in this area. Thankfully I came across a small park that had a gazebo. Sure it didn’t help with warmth, but the shelter from the rain was very welcome. All that could be done now was to wait out the steady shower.

 

    Now that I was sitting, I was able to relive the earlier incident. Hurt and anger came flaring up again until I remembered the looks on Sherlock’s and John’s faces when I had flipped on them. As angry as I had been at the time, I understood their reasoning for hiding the target status from me. In the short time I’d known them I’d grown to see them as older brothers and I felt they saw me as family too. After the walking god knows how long the anger had cooled off and I knew that I’d forgive them the moment I saw them. I didn’t have a family, though that was not a well known story and I was not willing to lose the one I had just gotten. Knowing those two, they were probably running around London looking for me, which made my heart ache more. Poor John was probably worried sick that I’d catch pneumonia out here while Sherlock was most likely picturing every way I could be killed by his enemies. Once we were back home I’d have to make it up to them and show them how sorry I was for running off like I had.

 

    Now the man I couldn’t forgive was that awful Mycroft. When John first spoke of the oldest Holmes being the Ice Man I thought it had just been a joke. Sure he was more reserved and guarded, but I would be too if I had such a stressful job that took all of my concentration. What I couldn’t forgive was the fact he had so easily manipulated my life to suit his desires and whims. Sure if he hadn’t I wouldn't have gotten to know the guys so well, but the fact he did it without batting an eye, hurt. What other lives had he moved and arrange to fit his needs and wants? How many people had he moved or just gotten out of the way because he saw them as a threat to Queen and Country… or because he didn’t see them as people at all. He just saw them as “goldfish” as Sherlock as told me the other day. Beings beneath him and his intellect.

 

    It was that and the fact he had been so suspicious of me and your relationship with his brother that wounded me the most. Trouble was something that I tried my best to avoid as I had been through enough of it from a young age. The past was something I wanted to keep there and the last thing I needed was a heartless man bringing back those memories. There was too much pain in them and I had thought I’d left behind.

 

    The rain seemed to be slowing, meaning that I might have a chance to find a person willing to give me directions to somewhere I knew in London. Being as lost as I was, I didn’t want to just keep wandering. My sense of direction was terrible and I knew without a doubt I’d only end up growing more and more lost. Shivers wracked through my body as I pulled the flimsy jacket tighter around me. John would go mental if I got sick. Not to mention I couldn’t take many days off work because I had deadlines I had to meet. Worry now filled my mind as I thought of the various projects and jobs that were due within the next few weeks. Some of my upcoming meetings were of high importance as well.

 

    What seemed to be a distant voice tore me from my thoughts. Looking around I didn’t see anyone and had just about convinced myself I was going mental when I saw the silhouette of a body stalked towards me. As the shape grew closer I swore it looked like Sherlock, but how would he know to look wherever this was? The person seemed to notice me and came running towards me with a gait that definitely belonged to the consulting detective. Jumping up I ran towards the man embracing him in a tight hug.

 

    “I’m so sorry we should have told you about what was happening but we just didn’t want to worry you. I understand if you don’t want to be around us anymore, though John might not understand as easily, but I’m sorry.” His voice sounded strained as if he had been calling for me for a while. Worry laced his features and his breathing was very labored.

 

    Surprising him, a chuckle escaped my lips and I and kissed him on the cheek. Bewildered he turned to face me trying to figure out what the hell what going through my brain. “I forgive you two. I understand… I really do. I might not liked what you did, but I get it. You wanted to protect me as long as you could even though I feel it would have been more beneficial to let me in on the situation. But.. I forgive you.” another shiver wracked through me and it was then that Sherlock seemed to notice how soaked I was.

 

    “John’s gonna bloody kill us,” he said while leading me to the next street over so he could hail a cab and get us home. Once in the cab Sherlock called John to tell him I’d been found, though I was most likely going to be sick from this little adventure. As the cab pulled up to the flat, John came running up the street, worry and panic lacing his face. Before I could even stand properly he tackled me, hugging me tightly and then guided me into the building and up to their flat.

 

    John ushered me into the bathroom while Sherlock ran to grab some of John’s pajamas for me to change into. They left me to shower in hot water while they went to get hot tea and food. The water felt amazing as it hit my skin, seeming to warm up the limbs I had sworn were frozen solid. This was a good reminder to not go running around without the proper attire on a cold spring day in rainy London. Turning the water off, I dried off and pulled on John’s warm pajamas and jumper. His jumper was a soft navy blue one which I instantly knew he was not going to get back after this. Shuffling into the living room, Sherlock noticed me and led me into his room, pulling to covers back so I could slide into his bed. Shortly after John walked in carrying a mug of steaming hot tea. Just as I reached out to grab it, another shiver accompanied by a sneeze ripped through my body causing me to groan in despair. John switched into doctor mode and grabbed a thermometer checking for a fever.

 

    “Bloody hell. 39.5 C. You’re staying here. Sherlock watch her as I run to the store to get her some meds.We have to get this fever down soon.” He grabbed his coat and keys and ran out the door yelling “I’m going to kill your brother!”

 

    Sherlock’s face went dark, fury seeming to pour from him. “I want to kill him too.”

 

    “Sherlock regardless of how much of an ass he is he is still your brother. Surely you don’t mean that.

 

    “No not kill him. But I want him to suffer just like you have. I want him to feel what you felt so he can understand what he did to you.”

 

    I gently pulled him in for a hug, looking for the words to explain why he needed his brother. To explain why Mycroft's judgement of you had wounded you so deeply.“Sherlock…. You’re smart and I know you’ve probably known for a while about my past and why I don’t talk about it, but I want you to understand what I went through so that way you don’t have to lose your family as well. When J comes back I want to talk a bit about my past. You both deserve to hear about it from my mouth.” He nodded and just sighed not moving to break our hug.

 

    It was evident that John could sense a serious conversation was coming by the look on his face as he walked into the bedroom, bag of medicine and food set down and forgotten. He walked over and sat down, taking the other side of the bed so that you were kind of sandwiched between the two men.

 

    Taking a deep breath my eyes stared intently at my hands in my lap. “I told Sherlock that I want to talk about my past a bit. I don’t know how much you two have deduced or how much you two know, but I want to tell you some things myself.” They both were silent, understanding I needed some time to start my story. “As you know I came here from America. I was born and raised on the East Coast to some wonderful parents. My father was a big fan of puzzles and mysteries so we were always making up games and people watching. He was an average factory worker, but he liked his job and worked hard to provide for us. My mom worked part time at the local grocery store to help make ends meet. We weren’t rich, but we were happy. I was the youngest with three older brothers. As much as I tried to play with them or follow them around, they hated it and would alway sneak away, leaving me on my own or telling me I was being a nuisance. Sometimes they’d even hit me or push me away which caused me to have a few unexplainable injuries. I always just told my parents I had fallen and they believed that, knowing I was clumsy. The four of us grew older and by the time I entered high school, they had all either barely graduated or dropped out. They would sneak out and be gone for days working on a scheme to get rich quick and get them out of our town. While they were in high school they started to be put in jail and all four of them missed the end of the year because they were in lock up. I know it hurt my parents to see their sons ignore their education, so I worked hard to get good grades and to graduate with honors. Once I was able, I got some scholarships and went to college, hoping it would make my parents happier.

 

    It was while I was in college that the issues with my brothers got worse. During my time away they had joined one of the local gangs. They were usually in and out of jail for various small robberies or assaults, but it was never anything major. Our parents were sad, but they kept hoping that one day my brothers would find the right path in life. One day after classes my brothers had called me begging me to meet them saying they really needed my help. As much as they hurt me growing up, they were still my brothers and I was willing to do anything for them. I was told to meet them outside an abandoned factory near our house that we had grown up treating as a playground. I got there as soon as I could but didn't’ see any of their cars or them. I called out a few times and then figured they had been given a ride and were probably inside. As soon as I walked into the building someone hit me hard on the head and I just remember hearing laughter.” I looked up to peak at their expressions. Sherlock looked downright murderous and John looked as though he was about to put his army training to use. Wanting to quell their fears and anger I gently held their hands, slightly startling them.

 

    “I’m not sure when I woke up, but when I did I was strapped to a chair with my mouth duct taped. Fear ripped through me as I panicked, trying to figure out where I was and who had done this. Again I heard laughter and my brothers and some of their gang members walked into the room. I cried and begged my brothers to help me, thinking they hadn’t known about this, but I was proved wrong when they just laughed harder and then spit on me. They told me they had made a deal with another gang from the next town over but it had gone sour, meaning they owed money big time. Apparently they had made a deal that instead of money, they would hand me over....”

 

    John now gasped turning to look right at me. “You don’t have to tell us anymore. I’ve been in situations like this and please, you don’t have to tell anymore.” I laid my head on his shoulder, knowing that they wouldn’t be mad if I stopped my tale, nor did they require me to say more, but I knew I needed to tell them.

 

    “It’s ok guys. I need to talk about it. Anyway, they made the mistake of leaving me alone in the room while they went to party in another part of the factory. Desperate to escape I struggled with all my might to get my hands united from the chair.” I lifted up my hands and looked at the intricate tattoos that I had gotten over the scars left from the ropes that day. John gently put his hand out to touch them while Sherlock’s face was filled with a fierce pain. “It took some time, but I was able to worm my way out of the ropes, though they left their marks forever on my arms. I untied my legs and snuck my way out of the factory as quietly as I could. I remember running, filled with fear and shock. How could my own brothers do that to me? I ran to the police station and filed a report.”

 

    “They’re in jail,” stated Sherlock.

 

    “I think they still are. All I know is as soon as I graduated I left. I know it hurt my parents, but I had to leave. There was too much pain there. So I packed my things and moved here to London two years ago. I started by working at a small coffee shop to pay rent and save up money. Soon I was able to start making more art and eventually I got the deal with the publishing company. Since then I’ve had no close friends or family... Well until you two.” It was then I smiled at both of them while squeezing their hands.

 

    “What Mycroft said hurt me deeply just because I’ve always gone out of my way to avoid trouble, especially after my brothers. There’s still this fear that if they ever get out of jail they’ll come looking for me. You two have become my family and I would use all my power to make sure nothing I did hurt you”

 

    Sherlock turned to look me in the eyes. “I know ____. John and I trust you.”

 

    “And Sherlock, you need to forgive your brother.”

 

    His eyes turned cold at your mention of the eldest Holmes. “No. He was cruel and he is the reason you got sick. I am not forgiving him.”

 

    My voice was now stern and powerful. “Yes, you are. Yes, what he did was wrong, but in his own weird way he was protecting you. As much as he states ‘Caring is not an advantage’ he definitely loves you. I would die to have my brothers care for me as much as Mycroft does for you, so dammit you are going to forgive him.” Sherlock groaned, throwing his head back dramatically knowing this was an argument he couldn’t win, while John chuckled at the childish act. You patted his curly hair and sighed. “You’re going to forgive him, but I sure as hell am not.” A smirk grew on my face. It would take the moving of heaven and hell for me to forgive Mycroft Holmes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

    The next week passed in a sort of blur seeing as I had come down with what John diagnosed as bronchitis and laryngitis. Even though I swore I was fine, he dragged me to my doctor so that he could prescribe me antibiotics and a super strong cough medicine. I spent my time awake trying to complete some commissions before their deadlines and any other time was just spent in deep sleep. Any energy I had was sapped quickly and I knew that it worried everyone. Poor John was doing his best to monitor my fever and to give me medication as I needed it. Dear Mrs. Hudson made enough soup to feed an army, swearing that a good soup could help beat any germs out of you. Even Sherlock was worried. He actually made me tea a few times! All I know is about a week after that day of sharing my past, I woke up without breaking into a coughing fit. Curious, I tested my voice. Though hoarse and cracking, I could actually hear noises emitting from my mouth. Laughter tore through me as I wiggled and cheered. Grabbing the thermometer that John kept beside my bed, I checked my temperature, smiling more when I realized my fever had finally broken.

 

    Feeling like a mostly normal human being, I quickly got dressed in my favorite blue jeans and tshirt and ran up to the boys’ flat. Shock and surprise covered their faces as I threw the door open and skipped over to the couch, plopping myself down on the middle cushion and grabbing a Jaffa cake from the table next to Sherlock. Automatically John had rushed over, checking for a fever and asking me every question he could think of about my well being.

 

    Before I had a chance to reply Sherlock pushed him back into his seat. “She’s fine John. Fever broke and she’s back to her normal self.”

 

    “Yup and I wanna celebrate! Can we go somewhere to eat? I want normal food, like a cheeseburger… no.. a steak! Wait no I want a massive breakfast platter!”

 

    John laughed and smiled while Sherlock grimaced stating, “We can’t. We have to wait here in case Lestrade has a case for us to solve.”

 

    John I knew I had already swayed to going out to eat. He was easier to handle, but though Sherlock was tougher, I knew I could crack him. Giving him my best puppy eyes and pout I begged, “But Sherlock, I need to eat to keep my health up and fully recover. And a meal with my two best guys would be even better to ensure I am 100% healthy.” His grimace stayed, but his eyes crinkled slightly and I could see he was being swayed. Smiling, I jumped up and ran over placing a quick peck on his cheek before running back to my flat to grab my bag and jacket.

 

    The three of us walked over to Speedy’s, the close cafe, because honestly they served a bit of everything. When the waitress came to take our order I swear John’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he watched me order multiple lunches and dinners. From being sick I had barely eaten the past week and who knows how much weight I had lost. Talking and laughing I scarfed down a cheese burger and fries, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a large side of onion rings. I’m sure they viewed me as a black hole, consuming food non stop with no apparent change to my frame, but I didn’t care. It was delicious and felt amazing to have normal food again. After eating we sat there in our booth drinking tea and people watching, or in Sherlock’s case “deducting every aspect of their lives”. He had just finished offending a nice looking couple by telling the man that his date was married and having an affair with him when I remembered I had a party I had to attend in a few days for the publishing company I illustrated for.

 

    “Hey.. guys… can I ask a question?” Their attention was instantly on me, which was slightly unnerving. I wasn’t sure how to go about asking them what I needed to. “So as you know one of my jobs is as an illustrator for one of the local publishing companies.” I paused, overcome with shyness and not sure how to ask these two men if they’d bother to come with me. I could see in Sherlock’s eyes that he knew what I wanted to ask, but he was being polite and letting me say it myself. “Well, every year they have a large social gathering… essentially a ball sort of thing. All employees are invited and many other guests attend. We all use it as a way to make new connections and to do some marketing.”

 

    “Wow sounds very fancy,” said John, who obviously had not figured out what I was trying to say.

 

    “Yeah. It is. There’s an orchestra and dancing and there’s a large catered dinner. Well… it’s scheduled to occur in 3 days time…. And… well.. In light of the cartel having a target on my back…” I took a deep breath. “ Iwaswonderingifyouwouldgowithme.”

 

    Of course Sherlock laughed at me. “I never knew your face could be that bright red!” while John just looked even more confused.

 

    “___ what did you just say? Cause it just sounded like you had a seizure.”

 

    “Damnit I’m asking you guys if you’ll go with me and make sure someone doesn’t try to kill me or something!” Now Sherlock was laughing so hard he could barely breathe and John seemed to have gone red sharing in my embarrassment. “Look, I know it’s weird asking you guys to be my ‘date’ or whatever, but I figured it would be the safest way. Then I can still attend and you two can make sure I don’t get kidnapped and Sherlock I swear to God if you keep laughing I will hide every single one of your nicotine patches and all your tea!” The curly haired man quickly lost any sense of humor he had while his flatmate started chuckling at the threat.

 

    Noticing you were grimacing and wishing a hole would open up and swallow you, John gently grabbed your one hand to grab your attention. “Yes dear, we’ll go with you. We told you we’d protect you and damnit if we have to dress fancy and socialize with people we don’t know to do it, we will.”

 

    “Wait.. we?” The surprise in Sherlock’s voice was evident. “I thought you’d take her yourself John and do your bodyguarding or whatever you want to call it. I don’t really socialize or deal with people. They expect things from me.”

 

    “Damnit Sherlock you’re coming too. Two of us can protect her better than one of us by ourselves.Last thing we need someone trying to abduct her again or something worse.”

 

    The poor consulting detective just sighed, knowing that John’s logic was sound and nodded. “I guess ____ you’ll have the pleasure of going with two dates instead of one”

 

    A small squeal erupted from you as you cheered already picturing what you wanted to wear and what the two guys could wear. “Oh gosh now we have to get dress clothes! Especially you Sherlock. You can not wear your pajamas and bathrobe to this you know!” Another groan passed through his lips as he realized the full extent of what he had just signed up for.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

    Taking a sip of his tea, Mycroft sighed and once again tried to focus on the report in front of him. It seemed that the Zatarra Cartel had been in the works of planning something big. There was evidence of them smuggling in more weapons and it in the past few months their numbers had grown exponentially. None of his agents were able to get a solid answer on what the hell they were planning and it was really starting to annoy him. At first he just had his men look into the cartel’s movements to quell his brother’s fury and to possibly earn some respect back from him and that blue haired girl, but the deeper his men dove, the worse the feeling in his guy got. The cartel’s recent actions were uncommon for them and that didn’t sit right with him. At first he had just assumed that someone had possibly hired them with the objective of roughing you up or getting information out of you, but from the look of the movements, whatever they were working on was much larger than anyone initially thought.

 

    His intercom buzzed, interrupting his train of thought. “Yes Anthea what is it.”

 

    “Victor Mathers is requesting to speak with you sir.” Victor huh. Could only be about the upcoming Parliament election.

 

    “Alright send him in.”

 

    The door opened and in walked Victor smiling kindly at him. The men shook hands and Mycroft gestured him to take a seat across from him. Remembering that manners were important in times like this, he offered the man a class of whiskey, which Victor turned down.”

 

    “Sorry good man. This will only be a short visit.”

 

    “No problem at all. So how can I assist you Victor?”

 

    “Well as you know the Parliamentary elections are coming up in a few months time and I’ve been making my rounds. You know how it is. Seeing what the general public want and seeing what those of us who are deeply involved in the Government are looking for and what we require. That way during next term I can do my best to serve the common people.”

 

    “Ah yes, the never ending cycle of politics. Well, my views are still very much the same as they were last election so hopefully that makes it a bit easier on you”

 

    “Very much so. You’re always the reliable one Mycroft. One last thing before I go, you know I am involved with the Publication House correct? They are having a small banquet mixer/fundraiser in a few days time and I was wondering if you would like to go as one of my guests? I know it’s not your typical scene and that you are very busy, but I know many of our government fellows will be there as well to support them so I figured I might invite you.

 

    Mycroft internally groaned. He absolutely loathed social functions. So many goldfish he  was required to mingle with while smiling and pretending their vapid statements didn’t grate against his mind. “Well let me check my calendar and see if I am free that night.” He knew that something had to be going on that would allow him to get out of this social monstrosity. Turning to his calendar he noticed he had an important meeting with some teams for MI6 that night. He smiled gleefully inwardly, but made a show of shaking his head and seeming to be heartbroken. Just as he was about to apologize for being unable to show, he recalled that you worked for the Publication House as an illustrator. The likliness of you showing would be high, but that would also mean his brother and his flatmate would be there as well ‘protecting you’ as they called it. He wasn’t sure why but something in him yearned to see you again, even if it was just to have you verbally rip him apart. The way you acted and spoke stuck with him.. And that look of hurt on your face as your ran from the flat that night still haunted him deeply. He wasn’t sure why, but the only way to discover the reason was to confront it at its source. He put on a mask of joy and fake surprise. “Oh look at that. I actually am free that night. That’s a rare occurrence indeed. I think I will come in fact Victor. I’d be delighted.”

 

    The suave politician beamed. “Wonderful! I’ll have the ticket emailed to your secretary and I look forward to seeing you there! Well I’ll take my leave. Good to see you. Might stop into the Diogenes Club soon and check up on the regulars. Been awhile since I’ve stopped in and checked on the men. See you later Mycroft!” He stood, shaking Mycroft’s hand once again and let himself out of the office leaving the older Holmes sitting there feeling very out of his element.

 

    Clicking on the intercom he called Anthea “Cancel everything for Friday night Anthea.”

 

    “Of course sir,” she replied and you knew it would be done within the minute. Taking a deep breath he poured another glass of whiskey. He was going to need all the courage he could find to get through an atrocious night of being social.

 

    Already internally groaning and regretting his choice, Mycroft walked into the large banquet hall after checking his coat and umbrella. There seemed to be a sea of people filling almost every chair in the room while others stood, sipping cocktails and gossiping about god knows what. So many goldfish. Deciding it was too late to run and change his plans now, he walked further into the room looking for anyone he could tolerate and have a conversation with. He knew Victor had to be here since he was the one who had invited him, but he had hoped some the regulars from the Club would show up as well. As a waiter passed he grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray, hoping alcohol would make the night more bearable.

 

    Fifteen minutes later, he found himself in a one sided conversation with an old ‘college buddy’ that was desperately trying to get out of. He hadn't even recognized the man and thought maybe at most they had been acquaintances back in the day. The man kept going on and on about his life since college and it was the most dry and vapid conversation he had ever had the displeasure of being afflicted with. A nod or mumble here and there placated the man and he just kept talking as Mycroft kept wondering how in the hell he had wound up in this situation. Just as he was contemplating calling Anthea and having her send agents to come free him, the most alluring laugh reached his ears, sending shivers down his spine. A laugh he knew he had heard not too long ago in his brother’s flat. A laugh that had been replaying in his brain for days.

 

    Turning his head slightly he first noticed his brother, dressed to the nines standing next to John, who was also dressed very nicely. His eyes quickly passed over them, looking for the source of the laughter. There between them surrounded by a group of people you stood, freshly dyed bright blue hair like a beacon letting all the world know where you were. You were wearing what seemed to be a tight fitting mermaid style gown that was black with silver embellishments. Your blue hair down in loose waves. Until now he’d only ever seen you in loose fitting clothing with your hair up in some way. You were positively exquisite. He knew he just had to talk to you, whether you hated him or not. He had to try. Something drew him to you and he had to understand what the hell was happening to him.

 

    He politely excused himself from his conversation with whoever he was and slowly walked in your direction while wracking his brain for anything to say. Mycroft knew he had to apologize. You had been right when you’d yelled at him for judging you without knowing anything about you. Assuming your file had been enough information to understand who you were had been horribly wrong and he wanted to fix that. There was such a chance that you would forgive him and on top of that he’d strained the already difficult relationship with his brother. So focused on his thoughts, Mycroft didn’t notice the tall man block his path until he had walked right into him.

 

    “You seem to be out of it” said Sherlock looking at his brother in disdain. “Queen give you an awful task of coming to a social event? I can see how that would really mess with your thinking capacity though I never would have thought it would affect it to this extent.”

 

    His words broke Mycroft only slightly from his thoughts. As much as he wanted to fix things with his brother, he more importantly wanted to fix things with you and understand why you caused these feelings in him. He wasn’t sick. He’d gone to the doctor and had every symptom checked and had been given a clean bill of health. “I was invited by a fellow government official Sherlock. Now please, I am busy.”

 

    “Oh always so busy. Must be hard being the British Government and toying with everyone’s lives.”

 

    Mycroft sighed, “Sherlock I am not here to fight with you. I’m sorry that what my actions did upset you but I still feel I was in the right in telling her.”

 

    “Maybe Mycroft, but you were in the wrong in how you said and how you implicated she was involved with the cartel.” His brother’s face darkened which was curious to Mycroft. “You have NO idea what she’s been through and John and I promised her we will never let her go through anything like that again!”

 

    For some reason a strong pain ripped through Mycroft’s chest at that statement. He seriously had to be coming down with something. Chest pain, brain fog, upset stomach. What else could be causing this? Desperation filled him as he raised his voice. “Brother, I don’t have time for this!”

 

    Just as he was about to turn away he heard that laugh again and whipped his head to find the source. You were standing there laughing at the fact John had bumped into a waiter knocking over a tray of horderves onto a seemingly high born lady. The pain in his chest tightened, but then released, making him seem as though he was gently floating. Your smile was large as your tried to help the lady and soften her anger. After the lady stomped off in anger you took a napkin and tried to clean some of the food off of your friend who wasn’t as thrilled about the situation.

 

    “No.” That short statement from his brother tore him from his observations.

 

    “What do you mean ‘no’ brother? Are you having conversations with yourself again?”

 

    Mycroft went to take a sip of champagne when his brother flatly said, “You fancy her” causing him to choke mid sip.

 

    “Preposterous. Impossible. We don’t have those feelings brother. Caring is not an advantage.”

 

    “Well you do. Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is ragged and you haven’t been able to look away from her since you've seen her. You fancy her and I am going to make you stop. I forbid you to be anywhere near her. You’ve hurt her enough and I refuse to let my own brother be the one to rip her apart again.”

 

    He couldn’t fancy her. That was impossible. “I don’t fancy her. I just want to apologize is all. With the case she will be seeing me more often and I want to at least have her be on speaking terms to make this easier on everyone.”

 

    Sherlock sighed, knowing his brother was too stubborn to realize how deeply he actually liked you. “That night when she ran out into the rain because you were an imbecile, she got so soaked that she came down with serious bronchitis. She was in bed for most of the past week with a high fever and no voice. Poor John was going insane trying to treat her and nothing we did seemed to help at all.” Had he really be the reason she was sick? The pain in his chest returned seeming to lodge itself there.

 

    “I just want to apologize Sherlock. If we’re to be together because of this case then I’d like to make it easier on everyone.”

 

    “Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I swear to God if she says stay away, you better do so. She’s dead set on never forgiving you, though is forcing me to forgive you myself.” She was forcing Sherlock to forgive him yet was set on hatred herself? What king of complex thoughts did she have? Was she more than just a goldfish? Following his brother, Mycroft walked over to you and John. The two of you were still working on getting a stain out of John’s pants. “Look who decided to join us.  ____ you may kill him if you wish since you say I’m not allowed to.”

 

    Your eyes whipped to meet his and the anger and hurt was evident on your face. “What do you want? You’ve done enough thank you.”

 

    Up close he could see the signs that you were still recovering from your illness. Your eyes weren’t as bright as normal, you seemed to have lost weight and your skin was pale. Was he really the reason you got sick? The pain in his chest returned almost 10 fold stealing his breath for a moment. He really must go to the doctor again. “Can I talk to you privately? It won’t take very long.”

 

    “No. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of John and Sherlock. They’re my family.”

 

    “Alright.” Taking a deep breath he found the courage to do something that was very uncommon for both Holmes brothers. “I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other day. It was wrong of me. I judged you wrongly without really knowing who you were and was wrong in assuming you were aligned with them and out to harm my brother. I don’t expect you to forgive me or to ever forget my atrocious behavior. I just wanted you to know that i regret my actions and that I’d like to, if we may, have a fresh start, or at least act civil to each other. This case will cause us to be around each other often and I don’t want to cause you more stress than needed. So… what do you say?”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

    There was complete silence as I processed what he had said. Mycroft Holmes had apologized? Hell Sherly barely did that without you twisting his arm. Poor John stood next to me mouth agape as he tried to process what just happened. Sherlock was there smirking. Why the hell is he smirking and what is he not telling me? I’d question him later. I shook my head and looked straight at the Ice Man. As angry as I was at him, damn did he look fine. He had on a black suit, blue undershirt and a black tie with little umbrellas on it. Why did this infuriating man have to look so good? Taking a deep breathe I said, “So you want to start over huh? Think an apology can fix it?”

 

“I really do want a fresh start. What can I do to prove this to you?”

 

    A resounding smack echoed as my palm met his cheek. Already his cheek held a bright red handprint. “You can take your apology and shove it up your ass!” Turning to walk away I could hear John and Sherlock laughing and moving to follow after me. Soon I was out the door, my checked wrap forgotten about and I was walking down the street, furious at the gall of that man. He goes and implies I’m trying to hurt Sherlock or in something illegal, assumes he knows me, and then after “realizing he’s wrong” things an apology will magically fix things? There was no telling how he had become the British Government, but dammit it definitely was not because he was smart. That was for sure. Man had shit for brains!

 

    In my anger I had walked a good three blocks until I remembered the heels I was wearing were not the best walking shoes and my feet were aching. Finding the nearest bench I sat down so I could rest and remove these killer heels. I knew that John and Sherlock would be coming to find me soon since they were being very strict about their body guard roles. Feeling back about running off, I stood and started walking back to the dinner party to make it a bit easier on them.

 

    It was only a minute later the two men came running up to me panting. John had grabbed my wrap and placed it over my shoulders to keep the slight chill out. “Can’t have you getting sick again you know especially since you’re still recovering.” I gave him a hug as Sherlock hailed a cab, most likely noticing my bare feet and knowing I would hurt someone if they made me walk back home.

 

    The drive back was quiet and calm. As much as I wanted to integrate Sherlock about his earlier smirk, I knew now was not the time and honestly I was too tired. Once we arrived back to the flats, they gave me quick hugs as we parted ways. A nice hot shower and my warm bed called my name.

 

    After a long night's sleep I crawled out of bed around noon and was so thankful that no one had come to wake me up. Pulling on John’s woolen jumper and setting the kettle to boil, I sat with my sketchbook and drew some of last night from memory. I did a quick sketch of John and Sherlock laughing in delight after I slapped Mycroft, then quickly did another one of some of my coworkers deep in thought, contemplating plots for possible books. Overall it had been a successful night. I had gotten a handful of new commissions and had talked with my boss about illustrating a sequel to a popular children’s book. The whistle of the kettle stirred me from my thoughts so I went to pour a cup and grab a bagel before running upstairs to interrogate Sherly. With mug and bagel in hand I opened the door to my flat only to about scream when I saw the eldest Holmes standing there, fist raised in mid knock. The more surprising thing was that he was holding quite a large vase of flowers.

 

    “What in the hell are you doing here? I told you to shove your apology up your ass. What about that don’t you get?” Groaning you went to shut the door on him, but in vain as he slid his well polished shoe in between the door and wall.

 

    “Please just hear me out. Let me have fifteen minutes and then I will be gone and I promise I wont talk to you unless it’s case related.” The look on his face slightly tugged at your heart as it reminded you of Sherlock when he begged for your help with an experiment. Also, it didn't help that being this close to him you were able to notice he smelled of chypre and tea which slightly turned your brain to fog.

 

    Pushing those thoughts aside you stepped to your right indicating that he was free to come in. “Fifteen minutes only. After that I am kicking you out and lord help you if you try this again.” He quickly walked in, probably realizing how serious, and took a seat on the couch while still holding the flowers. I almost laughed at the scene of Mycroft, all prim and put together against my mess of a flat. He must feel so out of place. Taking a seat on the coffee table, I faced him. “Talk.”

 

    “First, these flowers are for you,” he said while handing the vase to me.

 

    “Um thanks” I grabbed them and placed them on the table next to me, less concerned with his gift and more concerned with why the hell he was even here. “Now explain, or get out.”

 

    “I know you don’t believe me when I do say I’m sorry, but I really am. I was wrong in how I treated you, but I want to explain how my mind works a bit. I am seven years older than Sherlock. Until we met other children, Sherlock and I thought he was stupid. For me, living in this world is like being surrounded by goldfish, slowly moving and barely thinking. I have gone through life treating people as such. I assume everyone I meet is a goldfish unless proven otherwise, so I did the same with you.”

 

    “So you think it’s ok to treat people like shit just because they don’t have the IQ you do? That is such an asshole thing to do. If this is your excuse then you can leave right now. Or better yet I’ll go get John and have him shoot you!”

 

    “____ I’m not using it as an excuse. Rather I’m trying to explain why I did what I did. Like I stated last night, I don’t expect you to forgive me, but because of your case, we will have to be around each other at times. It would be most unfortunate to have all this animosity get in the way of finding who is after you and why. Also, Sherly would kill me if something happened to you because of that.”

 

    Seriously, this man was so infuriating. Thinking he can use his intellect an an excuse? I seriously wanted to just kick him out of my flat right now, but I knew that he had a point. If he was helping Sherlock and John, I’d have to see him and be around him now and then, and the last thing I needed was having my dislike of this man get in the way of stopping this cartel.

 

    “Look Mycroft, you might have a point there, but I can’t just forgive you or put aside what you said or how you treated me. You have no right to judge people like you do. Us ‘goldfish’ surprisingly don’t respond well to that type of treatment.”

 

    He sighed seeming frustrated I could not just let things go. “It seems to be a lesson I am being forced to learn.” Mycroft paused, appearing to be deep in thought. “How about this as a compromise? I will not expect you to forgive me nor will I make any more assumptions about you. As we work together to solve this case, I will do my best to get to know you and I will try to gain your forgiveness. Is that fair?”

 

    His words stunned me. Not only had he apologized last night but now he offered a compromise which was more in my favor. What in the world was happening and why was he making it so hard to keep blindly hating him? This was a decision I couldn’t make right away. “Listen, I have to think about this proposition. Give me a few days and I’ll have an answer for you.”

 

    “That is fine.” He pulled out an embossed business card, flipped it over and wrote a phone number on the back. “This is my personal phone cell phone number. You may contact me through this when need be,” he said while handing over the card and standing. “I will not bother you until you contact me or unless something of great importance comes up about the cartel. Have a good day _____” and he let himself out of the flat leaving me standing there confused as to what the hell had just happened.

 

    Confused and not quite sure what else to do, I quickly ran up to the guys’ flat. I opened the door and sat down on the chair, mostly zoned out trying to wrap my mind around what the hell had happened. Sherlock was sitting in his chair seeming to be in his mind palace while John was typing another article on his blog. Not wanting to disturb them, I sat there staring at Mycroft’s business card and began weighing the pros and cons of accepting his compromise in my head.

 

    My brain had been compiling list after list for who knows how long when I noticed that I had what must be the world’s worst headache and my stomach was aching with hunger. Blinking a few times I noticed it must now be evening as the lights in the flat were on and the sun had started to set outside. Sherly was still in the same position, deep in through. As I was about to go look for J, he came out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of hot tea.

 

    “Wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” he said while handing me the mug. As wacky as Sherly could be, J was the more sane one when it came to chatting. One would give really weird advice while being as vague as possible while the other thoroughly listened and tried to help as much as he could. It was during these times that John’s caring for me was truly evidence.

 

    “Why do you tolerate Mycroft? I know you dislike how he handles things and how cruel he can be, but why do you still work with him and try to be amicable?”

 

    He took a deep breath, contemplating my question for a moment before he answered. “The first time I met Mycroft he had kidnapped me in order to convince me to spy on Sherlock for him. Even though he offered to pay handsomely, I knew that I couldn’t do that to Sherlock. He’d come to rely on me and I despised the fact his brother thought he could use me to break that trust. It wasn’t until the crazy shit that Moriarty put us through that I saw Mycroft truly loves Sherlock. He might show it differently than the rest of us do, but he does really care about his brother. I think when I saw he’s not as high and mighty as he seems I was able to accept him a bit more. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a narcissistic asshole, but the fact he cares for Sherlock so deeply showed he’s not as much of an unfeeling prick as he seems.”

 

    “So… you do it for Sherlock’s sake?” I asked

 

    “I do. As much as I understand Sherlock and how his mind works, Mycroft is family and understands him better than anyone. Watching Mycroft interact with his brother has actually helped me.” He sat there and looked at me for a bit. “Why are you so curious, besides the fact he’s been a royal ass to you?”

 

    “He came to visit me this morning.”

 

    “He what?” yelled John. “Did he hurt you? Cause if he did so help me I will kick his ass. Remember I have army training!”

 

    “J calm down,” I said while trying to not laugh at how hysterical the man was getting. “He actually was… nice.”

 

    Confusion took over his face. “Mycroft? Nice? What drugs did you take and when?”

 

    “I’m serious. I was about to come upstairs to eat breakfast with you guys, but when I opened the door he was standing right there with a vase of flowers.”

 

    Poor John looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “What?”    “I know right? He gave them to me and then told me he had a compromise.”

 

    “A compromise? I take back what I said. You’re not on anything. Mycroft is obviously drugged.”

 

    I had to laugh at John’s choice of words. “I agree with you there. He told me and I quote, ‘I will not expect you to forgive me nor will I make any more assumptions about you. As we work together to solve this case, I will do my best to get to know you and I will try to gain your forgiveness.’ I mean Mycroft try to earn my forgiveness? You said it yourself. He’s the Ice Man!”

 

“I guess he did not listen to my warning.” Sherlock’s words caused John and I to jump in surprise since we had even forgotten he was in the room.              Turning on the couch I faced him confused. “What warning? And also why the hell were you smirking while Mycroft apologized last night? What the hell do you know Sherly?”

 

    Panic flitted across his face before he gained his composure. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The alcohol you had last night must have affected your memory.”

 

    “Haha very funny. I didn’t drink anything with alcohol last night and you know this. Now tell me or I won’t help with any cases for a month.”

 

    Sherlock sobered instantly, realizing how serious the situation was now. “Alright. Alright. No need to threaten with horrid things.” Poor man looked sad after that threat. “Now, before I say anything, you have to keep in mind that my brother is frankly an idiot even though he prides himself on being the smartest man in the world.”

 

    “Oh my God, just tell me Sherly!”

 

    “Fine! Mycroft fancies you.”

 

    I just about fell out of my seat while John looked like he had just seen a ghost. “What in the hell are you saying?? That's impossible!!!! He’s the Ice Man! J said so! I mean look how he treated me the other night!”

 

    “It’s true. Last night at the banquet I caught him staring at you and he had all the basic symptoms of having ‘feelings’ for you. His eyes were dilated, breathing was sped up and he couldn’t look away from you. I even told him so and his answer was the same as yours almost. Then I told him that he can’t act on his feelings and to stay away so he doesn’t hurt you anymore.”

 

    Overcome with love for Sherly, I walked over and gave him a hug which he awkwardly accepted. “Awww… you guys are the best brothers I could have asked for. But seriously, I can’t see the truth in what you’re saying Sherlock.”

 

    “My entire life, not once has Mycroft ever given anyone flowers, nor has he ever apologized. If Mycroft can’t prove his point, right or wrong, he will just give up and not fight, but with you not only has he apologized, he has brought you a gift and offered a compromise. If that doesn’t prove he cares for you than I don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

 

    Shock poured through my veins as the truth hit me. In some way, Mycroft Holmes liked me. The same man I had sworn to hate forever liked me. I sat down even more confused. “I’ve been sitting here for hours contemplating the pros and cons of his compromise and now I feel even more perplexed.” I looked at the two men. “What do you guys think I should do?”

 

    John was the first to answer. “As much as the man irritates me and makes me want to shoot him, you can’t have a better ally than the British Government. I’m not saying date him. In fact I agree with Sherlock that he should stay away from you, but when it comes to your case and finding out who is after you and why, Mycroft can be very powerful and helpful.”

 

    Sherlock gently looked at me. “John is right. As much as I despise Mycroft, he is a useful ally and this compromise seems to be in your favor. Though I still vote he stays as far from you as possible because if he hurts you again, John and I will have to kill him and I doubt Her Majesty would like that.” Groaning I laid face down on the couch. It was not fair that he gave such a favorable compromise or that he could be useful with my case.

 

    “So,” said John, “What are you thinking of doing?”

 

    I flipped upside down on the couch with my feet towards the ceiling and my head hanging off towards the floor “I guess I should accept it. I mean I can always change my mind or break his nose if needed.”

 

    Both of the men laughed, but Sherlock was the one to answer. “You can use my phone to text him your answer since I’m sure he’s waiting with baited breath.”

 

    I took out the stark white business card he’d given me and stared at it, eyes tracing his black embossed name and information. “No need. He gave me his personal number so I can contact him when I need to.” John snatched the card from my hands and inspected it thoroughly.

 

    “Holy shit, it really is his number! He wouldn’t even give this to Sherlock! He had to hack his phone to get it!”

 

    Poor Sherlock was grimacing now. “I told you he fancies you, though I don’t recommend returning his feelings.”

 

    “I don’t plan on it Sherly. He is just someone to help solve this case. That’s it.” And with that I walked back down to my flat to inform Mycroft of my decision. I couldn’t bring myself to call him, for fear of me cursing him out, so I figured a simple text would have to do. I pressed the send button and decided to distract myself with painting, hoping I had not made the wrong decision.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

    Debriefing agents was one of Mycroft’s least favorite parts of his job and he sorely wished someone else could do this for him. Though he respected his agents, he would rather have read about their missions than talk to them. Some agents would get off topic, asking about his personal life or telling anecdotes about their own. He preferred to make the debriefing as short and concise as possible, but today it seemed every agent wanted otherwise. One went on and on about their children and how the youngest had taken their first steps. Another had recently been married and somehow related every little thing to their husband. What was worse was that time seemed to be stuck in slow motion causing each debriefing to go even slower, if that was even possible. In between ages he kept checking his personal number, hoping you’d answered him. He almost never checked his phone this often. He texted Anthea requesting she schedule a doctors appointment for him. His symptoms were just persisting while gradually getting worse.

 

    Once his was left alone in his office he logged into his laptop to check up on current missions and cases, though he seemed only interested in your case. The only new information involving the cartel was about some drug movements and they had been smuggling more weapons into the country. It did not make any sense why this cartel was suddenly building their power up. They already were the most powerful cartel in the country and they really had no competition. The only logical explanation was that they were planning something big, though there were no hints as to what or why they were after___.

 

    Pushing those thoughts aside he grabbed his coat and umbrella and walked out to the car that Anthea had waiting for him. The fact that his symptoms seemed sporadic and became more chronic when you were around startled him. Maybe he was allergic to a perfume you wore, which was interesting since he’d always been a healthy person and had never suffered from allergies. He’d leave it up to his doctor. Hopefully it was nothing serious.

 

    Mycroft left his doctor’s office even more frustrated than he had came. His doctor said he was in the best health of his life which had to be wrong. He had no allergies and the blood work all came back clean. When he had explained his symptoms to the doctor he had smirked, promising Mycroft that he was in fact as healthy as he could be. None of that was helpful!

 

    Scowling out the car window he was debating asking another doctor for a second opinion when his phone went off, indicating a new text. Looking at the notification he saw that it was from an unknown number, which never happened. The only people who knew his personal number where those he entrusted it to. He quickly realized that it had to be a text from you with your decision.

 

“Sherlocks says you’re a good ally, so I accept your compromise, but hurt me again and I will break your nose.”

 

    As soon as he read the text his heart began to race and his hands grew slightly clammy. Ignoring whatever was happening to him he quickly sent a text back. “Splendid and if I offend you again, you have permission to break my nose.”

 

    His text tone went off again. “I don’t need your permission.” A small chuckle escaped him as he pictured the anger on your face.

 

    “You are correct. Though I would like to get permission to meet with you and my brother so we can try to see why the cartel is targeting you.”

 

    “Oh so you can wrongly judge me again?”

 

    “No dear. Rather I believe if we find their reason for targeting you, we will be able to move closer to cracking this case.”

 

    “DO NOT call me dear.” Just as he was about to answer his phone went off again. “Tomorrow. Noon. Sherlock’s flat. Goodbye.” Again his heart sped up, and he felt excited. Tomorrow noon it would be.

 

    Once again Mycroft stood outside his brother’s flat, but rather than to come condemn his brother’s friend his intention was now to get to know you. For some reason his stomach felt as though it was twisted into a knot and his brain struggled to know what to say. Maybe he’d ask John for his opinion on his illness while here. He rapped on the door and walked in when John called saying that it was open.

 

    Inside he found John sitting in his chair with his laptop while you and his brother were absent. As he was about to ask where you were, he heard a scream coming from Sherlock’s room. John wasn’t reacting, but curiosity over took Mycroft and his feet carried him over to his brother’s door. Inside his brother stood tall holding what seemed to be a sketchbook high above your head while you jumped trying to grab it. This interaction between you two was more evidence to Mycroft of the strong bond Sherlock and you had grown to have. For some reason he seemed jealous of that bond, but quickly pushed those feelings aside. For a moment it seemed as though it was too out of your reach, until you jumped on Sherlock’s bed, then launched yourself at his back and latched on like a koala. The sudden added weight surprised his brother, causing the two of you to fall down onto his bed giving you the opportunity to grab the sketchbook back. A large grin appeared on your face as you poked Sherlock and turned to walk out of the room. Once your eyes met Mycroft’s it seemed as though your joy was gone, which left him confused and aching.

 

    Turning to follow, Mycroft grew confused as you left the flat, but decided to take a seat on the couch near John. “Where is she going?”

 

    John was chuckling while Sherlock left the room seeming to regret his actions. “She went to hide all of Sherlock’s nicotine patches because he stole her sketchbook.”

 

    “Well she wouldn’t show me the drawing she did of me! I had to decide if I needed to burn it or not!” whined his brother while he flopped into his chair.

 

    “You know better than to mess with her Sherlock,” John chided, his gaze still not leaving his laptop. “She already hid your revolver and all your caffeine.”

 

    A groan left Sherlock as he stood and shuffled to the flat door. “Fine.. I’ll go apologize and see if I can get one of them back.”

 

    “Good luck!” called John while he finally looked up at Mycroft. “She won’t give him anything back for another few days. He’ll have to buy her a burger and fries to get anything back honestly. Or let her blow something up with one of his experiments.”

 

    Blow things up? Oh no… not someone else like his brother. John seemed to read his thoughts speaking up. “Oh she doesnt hurt things or destroy things in the flat. She makes Sherlock take her to the shooting range at the station to make her explosions. She doesn’t want to hurt others, but wants to protect herself better.”

 

    “Protect herself? From what? The cartel?”

 

    John shook his head. “That’s her decision to tell you. I won't betray her confidence.”

 

    Mycroft sighed. Getting to know you was going to be harder than he thought. Just then he remembered his illness. “Oh John, while I’m here, do you mind if I ask you as a doctor for a second opinion?”

 

    The sandy haired man seemed taken aback. Mycroft had never asked for his advice before. He placed his laptop to the side and turned his attention to the oldest Holmes. “Um.. sure. What do you need?”

 

    “I’ve been having these strange symptoms, and I know I’m getting sick, but I was just at my doctor and he swears I’m as healthy as possible which can’t be true.”

 

    “Alright. Why don’t to start by telling me some of your symptoms.”

 

    “My heart has periods where it beats erratically, my skin gets clammy and my brain fogs up. There are moments where my chest feels extremely tight and I can’t catch enough air and I have not been able to fully focus on my work as of late.”

 

    The doctor seemed more alert and concerned. “Are moments when these symptoms are stronger and if so when?”

 

    “Yes actually and it’s usually when ____ is near. I think I might be allergic to something near her, though my doctor says I have no allergies.”

 

    “Fuck. He was right.” whispered John while he paled slightly.

 

    “What was right? My doctor? That’s impossible.”

 

    John sat up, not sure how to explain this to the Ice Man. “In a way your doctor is right. You have no physical illnesses, but you are technically suffering from a mental type of illness.”

 

    “What in the world could that be?” he explained confused and concerned.

 

    “You fancy someone.”

 

    Mycroft laughed. “You’re very good with jokes Dr. Watson. I bet your patients love your sense of humor.” He expect John to speak up and agree with him, but the man looked as though someone died. “What in the hell? You can’t be serious!”

 

    “I am, sadly. Sherlock was right damnit.”

 

    It was then that Mycroft recalled his conversation with Sherlock the night of the banquet. “No…. it can’t be.”

 

    “As I said before, I am, though I really wish I wasn’t. You fancy ____. Though I agree with Sherlock that you should stop and leave her alone.”

 

    Mycroft was at a loss. He’d never fancied anyone before. He wasn’t the type of man to have feelings along those lines. Sure he had respect for others and he loved his brother and parents, but he had always known that caring was a disadvantage. It created weaknesses and allowed others to hurt you.”What… what do I do?”

 

    John’s face softened, realizing the man in front of him was lost and in very new territory. “Well, that’s up to you honestly. First you have to decide what you want to do about it. Do you want to pursue these feelings or ignore them and hope they subside. You can try to ignore then, though I can’t promise they will.”

 

    “What if I don’t know yet?”

 

    “Well then you can go along with your compromise with her and get to know her. Give it some time until you can make a more informed decision. As I said earlier I agree with Sherlock and wish you’d stay far away from her because you’ve hurt her enough already.”

 

    “I know. I regret it.”

 

    John snorted. “You do have a heart it seems. Make sure not to break hers.”

 

    It was at that moment Sherlock and you walked back into the flat. You both seemed to come to an agreement since you held your sketchbook and Sherlock held his coffee tin. Content, Sherlock walked over to his experiments in his kitchen and you sat on the couch flipping to an empty page. As you started sketching you finally seemed to sense Mycroft’s presence,

 

    “Oh.. hi Mycroft.”

 

    “Hello. Does Sherlock hate being drawn that much?”

 

    “Not all the time, but he gets angry when I draw him without his permission which frankly I feel ruins the composition when the subject is fully aware they are the subject.”

 

    “Very true. Often time artists struggle with human subjects who know they are being drawn because it’s hard to capture their real thoughts and emotions.”

 

    Your head shot up from your paper to look right at him. “Wait.. how do you know about this stuff?”

 

    “My brother annoyingly adores art. Doesn’t see it as a job, but loves the classics. He’s been to the National Gallery so often he can tell you which painting is where. Even flew to Italy to go see some of the most famous Italian Renaissance pieces. I frankly don’t get it,” said Sherlock as he now stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

 

    “You’ve been to ITALY?” you asked in surprise? “How was it? Was it as beautiful as the art makes it seem? I’ve always wanted to go!”

 

    Mycroft smiled, his heart warming at your excitement and inquisitiveness. “It was one of the most splendid things I’ve ever seen. They’re even more awe-inspiring in person. Maybe one day you’ll be able to see them as well.”

 

    “If only! It’s only one of my few dreams! To walk where the greats before me have walked!” You dramatically laid on the couch, flailing your arms for emphasis. Mycroft’s heart clenched at the sight and he inwardly sighed. The two flatmates had been right… he liked you and he had no idea what to do about it. Part of him wanted to sit and talk with you about art and your interests while the other wanted to run in the opposite direction and never look back. Taking John’s advice he decided to just get to know you more before making a decision.

 

    Before he realized it he blurted out, “We could all go to the National Gallery next week.” and then instantly regretted it as his brother glared daggers at him, but you were already bouncing over to Sherlock.

 

    “Sherlock let’s please go! We don’t have any big cases and I don’t have any meetings with clients for work! In the two years I’ve lived in London I’ve never had a chance to go to the National Gallery cause work kept me busy. I’ll give you back your nicotine patches!”

 

    Mycroft could tell that Sherlock was already swayed as soon as you started begging, but the patches were a definite bonus. “Fine fine we’ll go. But you are not to leave our side or wander off. I know how you get when you’re distracted.”

 

    “I told you I didn’t mean to step through the pool of blood last week!”

 

    “Pool of blood?” asked Mycroft while highly confused.

 

    “Yup,” said John. “A case Lestrade had us investigating led us to a warehouse filled with exotic animals that had been smuggled into the country. ____ was so distracted by all the animals that she didn’t notice the dead body in front of her and walked right through the pool of blood, tracking it around the crime scene. Was actually really funny.”

 

    “But J they were so cute!!! You can’t blame me! There were all types of animals you typically only see in zoos and they were right there in front of me!”

 

    “I’ll repeat again, you do not leave our side or walk off ok? I don’t need you getting hurt, animals, art or whatever,” stated Sherlock sternly.

 

    “Yes Sherly. Whatever makes you happy,” you said while standing to place a short kiss on his cheek. Mycroft was overcome with an explosion of jealousy but coughed to quell his feelings causing Sherlock to glare at him again which only made Mycroft glare back. There quickly was a staring contest between the two Holmes brothers and Mycroft sorely wanted to win. Their entire lives, they’d treated everything as a competition which had caused some pretty tense situations. Knowing each other’s weaknesses they started throwing verbal jabs to try to make the other give in, but before they could really get started, John stopped it, knowing how deadly their verbal lashings could turn.

 

    “ALRIGHT! Enough. If you two want to go ahead and fight for alpha male that’s fine but I’m not going to be here. _____ wanna escape with me?”

 

    “Yes please. We can go down to my flat and watch the telly and I’ll order in some food.”

 

    “I knew there was a reason I loved you!” Giggling, the two skipped out the flat door, causing Mycroft to get distracted and look away.

 

    “Well brother mine, seems you have a new weakness.” Sherlock was delighted to have new ammo to harass his brother with.

 

    “Oh shut it. I do not have any weaknesses. You’re the one with a slew of weaknesses like your drug addictions, caffeine addiction, your weird addiction to cases and not to mention your need to show off around goldfish.”

 

    “Says the man with an addiction to sugar. Seems you’ve been struggling with your diet recently. Is it because of ____?” said Sherlock, knowing his brother’s diet was his deepest weakness.

 

    “That’s it. I’m leaving. Unlike you I have better things to do with my time than quarrel over trivial matters. Tell the others I said goodbye. I might stop in tomorrow if I have the time.” said Mycroft as he gathered his things, tired of fighting with Sherlock, especially when he knew his brother could win today.

 

    As he walked out of the building he could hear you and John laughing at whatever was on tv and again the green monster of jealousy tore through him. Before today he’d only heard of the emotion from books he had read. He’d never quite understood it, wanting something that you didn’t or couldn’t have to the point of it causing you pain. Emotional attachments were a distraction and got in the way of the important things in life. Sherlock was a good example of that. Always causing Mycroft to bail him out of his predicaments or to come check on his well being, especially when he was a heavy drug user. But here he was, the Ice Man himself, jealous that the doctor was the one you were laughing with and comfortable with. Mycroft had always believed that if you want something you make it happen. Well for some reason this was something he wanted very badly.


	12. Chapter 12

 

    Sitting on a chair in Lestrade’s office the two of us shared a look as John and Sherlock continued arguing over the case we had just solved. The whole things started when Sherlock stated that he alone solved the crime, even though John had been the one figure out that the deceased has been murdered just because he was running for office. Sherlock insisted that he was the one who cracked the case, while John was perturbed because Sherlock didn’t even know who the current Prime Minister was.The two were arguing about mind palaces and necessary information while I was was sketching and poor Greg just looked lost.

 

    Turning to him I said, “They’re boring me. Wanna go get food?” I knew I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I wasn’t sure if he had so it seemed like a logical question.

 

    “Wait.. you wanna go get food with me?”

 

    “Well, yeah Greg. Hungry people eat.”

 

    He seemed surprised that I had asked him to get food. I knew that he was socially awkward so I guessed this wasn’t a common occurrence for him. “Sure if you’d like. Where do you wanna go?”

 

    After a short discussion we left the station and headed down the street to a local pizza shop. I wasn’t sure why buy solving cases always made me extra hungry. We ordered our food and we sat in a comfortable silence. It was always pleasant being around Greg because he never asked ridiculous questions or decided to deduce everything about those around you. I was sitting there sketching people at other tables when he decided to break the silence.

 

    “This might be a weird question, but how do you put up with Sherlock as much as you do? I mean I just work with him and he can drive me batty. You live in the same building as him.”

 

    I smiled, letting him know that I wasn’t offended by his question. “Don’t get me wrong. There are times where I really wish I could just make him disappear for a moment so that way I can have some peace and quiet, but honestly, I think I get along with him because I understand him and I accept him for who he is. Everyone's always judging him and trying to change him, where as John and I only encourage him to not do things that are dangerous to him or others. Sherlock is well… Sherlock and as annoying and embarrassing as he can be, I know that he’d do anything to protect me, so I trust him.”

 

    He pondered my words for a bit before smiling and saying “You’re right. Everyone does try to make Sherlock ‘normal’. It’s sad really. Man is bloody brilliant.”

 

    “I know! It’s amazing how powerful his brain can be! I love it!” Just as the pizza was being delivered to our table, my phone got a text.

 

    “If you’re still interested in going to the museum, tell Sherlock that we are going on Wednesday.”

 

    I guess my face looked confused because Greg  asked “What’s wrong are you ok? Did something happen?”

 

    I shook my head. “No just Mycroft with a message for Sherlock.” I was not sure he had decided to text me rather than his own brother. I did not relish being the middleman between both Holmes boys because that could lead to some very nasty mediating the way those two fought.

 

    “Oh you met the eldest Holmes? Can’t have been pleasant. First time I met him he decided to tell me if I fail at keeping Sherlock in line then he’d have my job.”

 

    “Yeah I am not a big fan of him. He has a lot to do to even get in my good books.”

 

    He laughed. “I understand completely. Not that he’ll ever try. If that man isn’t interested he won't care at all.”

 

    “I knew you’d come here for pizza. You’re always hungry.” interrupted Sherlock as he sat down next to him while John sat on the other side of the booth with Greg.

 

    “Well yeah, eating pizza is much better than listening to you two bicker like an old married couple!” I said while playfully shoving into him with my shoulder. “Seriously you two are always at it. If I didn’t know better I would swear you were dating!”

 

    Both men just glared at me, as this was a joke I’d commonly make when they couldn't stop fighting.

 

    “So,” said John attempting to change the subject. “What were you two talking about?”

 

    I stifled a laugh while looking at the man next to me. “About the mutual dislike of your brother Sherly, but now that you two are here lets eat!”

 

    “But you do like him ____.” All heads quickly turned to face Sherlock.”

 

    “Excuse you? You might not like his personality but I know you're attracted to hi-”

 

    My hand covered his mouth before he could continue. “You know what? I’m actually not hungry,” I said while standing up. “I’m gonna go take a walk…”

 

    As I moved to leave the booth, John stood and stopped me. “___ you know you shouldn’t be alone.”

 

    Frustrated I pushed him aside. “I don’t care, follow me or whatever, I just need to go walk.”

 

    “I’ll go with you,” said Greg, surprising me. Sure I knew him from doing cases with Sherlock, but we didn’t know each other very well. This could work in my favor I thought since he wouldn’t grill me with questions like the other two would.

 

    “Alright fine, you can come with me,” I said while already heading towards the door. He followed quickly and we left the restaurant, leaving my two confused flatmates behind.

 

    Being around Sherly all the time, I tend to not see people in the same way anymore. Greg was actually a smart person with a great sense of humor. He was good at making sarcastic comments that made me diffuse my earlier frustrations. After a brisk walk we ended up at my usual park, sitting on a bench by a pond. We’d been sitting here for the past hour trading stories and jokes and frankly he was a comforting person to be around. Not once had he asked about the incident at the pizza shop, instead keeping the conversation light by asking random “get to know you” questions and I was very thankful for that.

 

    “So you love music. In that case, do you have a favorite band or artist?” he asked.

 

    “Not really no. I love all music. To me it’s a great way to connect to emotions and feelings. A way to express them when you can’t find the right words.”

 

    “I get that, though I never quite understood the classical music. There’s no words.”

 

    Laughing I answered, “That’s because your heart is supposed to make its own words to go along with it. Alright question for you. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would it be and why?

 

    “Honestly, I’ve never really left England. I’ve been content here and it has everything I need and like. What about you?”

 

    I sighed, picturing all the places around the world I wanted to explore. “Pretty much everywhere. There’s so much history and art and it’s different in every country and city. I want to experience it all.”

 

    “That’s really cool. You’ll have to share all your travel stories with me when you get to do that. I bet you’ll have great adventures.” He really was a nice guy. I didn’t get why Sherlock was so mean to him.

 

    I turned to look at him. “Hey, thanks for escorting me. I know you’re busy being a DI and all that, but thanks. This was nice.”

 

    He smiled back gently. “It’s fine. I know how much Sherlock can aggravate someone and it seemed like you really needed some time away from him.”

 

    We both stood and started walking back to 221. “You’re a really great person Greg. Again, thanks for this.”

 

    “Like I said, it’s no problem. Plus I always enjoy any time I get with you. It’s not everyday you get to spend time with a beautiful artist.”

 

    Blushing I turned to hide my face. I’d never been one to take compliments well and I’d never really been interested in a relationship. Thankfully I was saved by the fact we’d arrived at the flat. “Um.. well, this is me. Thanks again. I’ll see you later,” I said while turning to open the door, but I stopped when I heard him call my name. I turned to face Greg, but was met with a quick kiss on my cheek.

 

    “Bye,” he said while I ran into the building. This was not what I needed happening. He was nice. I mean, really really nice, but I only saw him as a friend. Also as handsome as he was, he was so frazzled and not very put together, unlike… I quickly stopped myself. I was not going to think about that atrocious man at all, even if he did look god damn sexy. Groaning I walked into my flat and shot John a text letting them know I was home safe, not dead, and was going to paint for a while if they needed me. My head needed some serious cleaning, so I put on one of my playlists, changed and started jamming out while getting lost in beat.

 

    Too soon Wednesday rolled around and I woke up with mixed feelings. Today was the day we were going to the National Gallery! I mean it had some of the best classic artwork and I was so excited to see some of these pieces in person, but I did not really want to see them with Mycroft. He made me too confused and caused me to go through about 30 emotions in 5 minute and that was not healthy. Deciding I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this experience for me, I dressed up in black leggings, a light blue sweater dress and tan boots and did my make up a bit. I couldn’t go to a famous gallery looking like the slob I usually was. After eating a small breakfast, I ran up the stairs to the guy’s flat hoping both of them were already up. John was sitting in his chair wearing nice khaki pants and a dress shirt while reading the newspaper, but Sherlock didn’t seem to be anywhere.    

 

    “J isn’t he up yet?” I asked while checking the kitchen.

 

    “Nope, I tried to wake him up but he just threw a pillow at me,” he said while frowning until he noticed I was dressed up as well. “Aw you look nice! Not that you don’t always look nice. What I’m trying to-”

 

    “I get it,” I chuckled. “You're fine John. And you look very nice yourself. From the kitchen I grabbed a cup of ice cold water and walked over to Sherlock’s door. My hope was that he was awake in his room and dressed, but I very much doubted that. Inside Sherlock was sprawled on his bed in a very deep sleep. He would hate me after this, but frankly, I didn’t care. Walking quietly to the side of the bed, I stood there for a moment before pouring the entire cup of water on his face.

 

    The scream that tore through the flat was almost inhuman as Sherlock jumped out of the bed and whirled around in shock. Falling to the floor, I began laughing so hard it hurt while John could be heard roaring with laughter from the doorway. The pur murderous intent on Sherlock’s face sobered us quickly, though small giggles kept escaping.

 

    “Morning Sherly. Rise and shine!” I cheered while I led him to the bathroom and shut the door. Still laughing I grabbed his favorite purple dress shirt and black dress pants and left them on the bed before heading back into the living room. It seemed as though Sherlock was moving like pond water and every minute felt like an hour, so to help keep myself calm I started sketching John as he worked on his blog.

 

    Eventually Sherlock trudged out of his room, a death glare pointed directly at me causing me to laugh. I knew he was not a morning person but I was not going to let that keep us from going to the museum today. “Sherly, you’re fine. Don’t even bother complaining. You knew what time we were leaving so honestly it’s your fault.” Once again he just glared at me while I grabbed his hand and led him out the door while John followed.

 

    As we got out of the cab I felt my excitement explode out of me as if I was an imploding star. We were finally here and I was going to see all these beautiful works up close in personal. I had been on their website the past few days looking at what exhibits they had. Degas, Raphael, Da Vinci, Monet, Seurat, Van Gogh. It was an art lover’s paradise! I skipped through the ticket line while John paid and once we were inside a squeal of delight escaped past my lips. MY eyes were already batting around trying to decide which piece I wanted to look at first. There were a so many exhibits and so little time that I wanted to be able to see all of them while simultaneously looking at each one in depth. As much as my instincts were to run off, I had promised Sherlock I would not leave his side and I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was, so I waited for him to come to my side before grabbing his hand and guiding him and John towards the first exhibit I wanted to check out, Degas’ pastels.

 

    Each piece was more beautiful than the next, enticing me to stand there are look at every intricate stroke and overlap of color. It was almost like a dream, being surrounded by all these famous works of art. Maybe one day if I was lucky, I would be among these great people. My feet naturally carried me upstairs into the Sainsbury Wing, knowing that I wanted to view the works up here chronologically. I know a lot of people disliked the pre-Raphaelite works, but they were beautiful to me. They told a story, typically based off of religions, history and mythology and every detail was purposely placed.

 

    I was torn from my revere when John gently touched my shoulder to grab my attention. “You’re really loving this aren’t you. I’ve never seen you so drawn to something. You’re about as captivated as Sherlock when he gets a challenging case.”

 

    A small laugh left me. “You’re right. I’m always in awe of artwork, especially these older ones.” The urge to reach my hand out and gently stroke the painting in front of me was so strong, but I didn’t want to upset the guard and get us kicked out.

 

    “How come?” he asked. “I mean I know these are famous artists, but they’re dead and the only topics they seem to cover are stories and history.”

 

    “Exactly!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly as others hushed me. After apologizing I continued in an excited whisper. “These men lives hundreds of years ago during a time when a large part of the population was illiterate. The only way for most people to learn folklore and history was through word of mouth and paintings. Churches were always filled with stained glass and various relief sculptures to help the community understand what they were being taught.”

 

    John seemed to start to get a slight grasp about what I was saying. “Oh, so it’s like when we give kids picture books before they can read.”

 

    “Um…. in a way I guess?”

 

    “Ok, but how is that important to us? We didn’t live then and a larger chunk of the world is literate.”

 

    “See J, when we learn our history, we have visuals of what happened because of these men. Because of them we can see what certain battles or wars looked like. For example Jacque Louis David was the only artist to capture the French Revolution in painting. This allowed us to understand more about what happened. Also history and art are connected. If a group of people are thriving and have the basic necessities like food, shelter, and water, they have the free time and security to pursue art. You don’t have time to explore creativity when your worried about where your next meal is coming from or if you’ll even live through the night. For example, when you were deployed in the army did you think during battle that it would be a great time to write a blog?”

 

    “Of course not that’s bloody asinine. Great way to get killed.” As soon as he finished that sentence understanding dawned on his face. “Alright I see that now. So if people feel their life is safe and they have the basic comforts, then they can go write a blog or whatever.”

 

    It was then that Sherlock walked up to us shaking his head at John. “I seriously question how you became a doctor when you have no common sense. How you’d survived this long confounds me.”

 

    “I’m surprised as well since you love to put me in as many dangerous situations as possible. You’ve left me get caught by the mafia, you’ve used me as bait countless times, and you’d let me get arrested and beaten to draw out a suspect!”

 

    “You were fine and I knew you’d live,” said Sherlock dismissively.

 

    “So you knew I’d live when you pushed me off that boat into a shark infested ocean? Or that time you taunted that serial killer as he held a knife to my throat?”

 

    “Alright both of you knock it off,” I growled while stepping between them. This day is going to be perfect and neither one of you are going to ruin it for me. Now shut up and appreciate the art damnit.” I grabbed their hands and dragged them to one of the rooms I had been wanting to see the most.

 

    As I walked into the room I dropped their hands and walked over to the one wall, entranced by the paintings before me. There before me hung “Calais Pier” and a few other famous paintings by the great man himself, Joseph Mallord William Turner. His style had always captivated me and was one of the reasons I had chosen to move to London.

 

    Sherlock had a puzzled look as he inspected the paintings. “They just look like blobs of color. He’s not very realistic when capturing his subjects. Also they’re just boring landscapes.”

 

    The glare I directed his way was intense. “You leave my man Turner alone damnit. He’s the reason landscapes grew to equal importance as historical paintings.” I turned to look at the next work, “Rain, Steam, and Speed - The Great Western Railway” depicting a steam locomotive barreling over the Maidenhead railway bridge when someone next to me cleared their throat.

 

    “Ahh I see you’re a fan of Turner which surprises me. I would think you’d be over looking at the classics by Michaelangelo and Davinci,” said Mycroft while looking at the painting.

 

    “They’re good and all, but they’re not Turner,” I replied, already becoming aggravated at this man.

 

    “Nothing against him at all. I admire his works a great deal. Turner had an unique way of capturing light and movement in his paintings.”

 

    “Huh,” I said. “Maybe you’re not as much of a pretentious asshole as I thought.” While Sherly and J laughed I walked off to another section of the museum smirking to myself, feeling as though I had won a verbal battle.

 

    Over the past few hours we had covered most of the museum, surprisingly with few side comments from Sherlock, when we decided to grab some lunch at a local cafe. I would have loved to see our eclectic group from a stranger’s eyes. Like usual, Sherlock’s topics of conversation we less than appropriate for eating, causing John to scold him, which led to the two of them fighting while Mycroft was sitting awkwardly at the table looking way too high class to be eating at a cafe. They made for an interesting site these three.

 

    “Ok boys, I’m gonna head to the bathroom and when I get back we’re gonna go look at the next exhibit.”

 

    “Oh God there’s more?” groaned Sherlock while dramatically throwing himself onto the table. I couldn’t help but laugh at his childish reaction to the museum.

 

    Standing up I hugged Sherlock from behind and playfully ruffled his curly locks. “Sadly, yes Sherly, but don’t worry. After this section we can go back to the comfort of our flat, away from all the women gawking at you and your hotness in your purple shirt.”

 

    “Wait what?” he exclaimed while sporting a very confused look. Instead of answering him I just laughed and walked off towards the restrooms while smiling to myself. Today had already been a wonderful day and I felt very grateful that I was able to spend it with the two people who had become my new family.

 

    As I left the bathroom I heard what sounded like a young girl crying. Common sense said to go get Sherlock and have us all look for the child together, but I was not sure if time was on our side. What if the girl was lost or hurt? Time was very crucial to get her the help she might need so I went down an adjoining hall following the cries. I came to a door with a sign that said ‘Employees Only’ and paused for a moment. After weighing my options I pushed through the door, knowing the child was more important than me possibly getting in trouble. It seemed that the crying was coming from the stairwell so I ran there as fast as I could, but was puzzled when no one was in there. I ran up and down the two flights calling out and hoping the child would answer, hoping she had not ran off again or was severely hurt. Deciding she might have run back towards the various galleries I turned to search the halls on the way back to the cafe when something hit my head creating a splitting pain and causing me to cry out. During my last moments of consciousness I broke my bead bracelet, hoping it would leave at least some trail or hints for Sherlock to follow.

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

    Extreme pain tore through my skull which confused me. As I slowly opened my eyes the memories of the child’s cries and the hit on the head became more vivid. Shit. Sherlock was going to kill me. If whoever took me didn’t kill me first he surely would for making him panic. My arms and legs were tied to a chair with some of the thickest rope I had ever seen. I wasn’t going to be breaking out of it any time soon. Panic started to set in but I shook my head trying to suppress it. Freaking out was not going to get me anywhere and who knew if Sherlock or John even figured out I was missing yet. I had to at least try to escape or make a plan. Ignoring the splitting headache that was gracing me with it’s presence, I looked for clues about where the hell I was. The first thing my mind registered was that I was in a run down room that held only the chair I was in and a small table. The walls had peeling paint and traces of what seemed to be mold growing in the corners by the ceiling. Turning my attention to the door I noticed that the handle was rusted and some of the screws were slightly loose. Getting the door open wouldn’t be too bad, but getting out of these ropes was another thing entirely.

 

    I groaned wishing I had the pocket knife that John had given me after the attack near our flat. Even though I probably wouldn’t be able to use it, I know having it would have made me feel a million times more confident. Curious, I tugged my arms and legs a couple of times to test the strength of the ropes, but sadly they were quite strong. As my mind tried to rationally think through things the sound of footsteps interrupted me. I strained my hearing, hoping to get some hint of where I was or what was happening.

 

“I don’t see why. Would honestly be the easiest way to handle it,” said someone in a softer voice on the other side of the door.

 

“We’re not supposed to ask why idiot,” answered a gruff voice. “We just do what boss says. You know what happens when we question ‘im.”

 

    The other man seemed to sigh. “I know. I still miss Tony. He was always my favorite. Don’t know why we had to off him.”

 

    “Cause he questioned the boss idiot. Now don’t question him unless you wanna end up like Tony.”

 

    “Still don’t know why we have to off the girl. Boss just wants the data. Don’t see why we have to kill her. She didn’t hurt anyone.” Wait.. were they talking about me?

 

    The gruff voiced man groaned. “Doesn’t matter. Boss needs the data. We do what boss says. Now shut up and let’s go finish our rounds before we get in trouble because believe me, I’m not getting my ass kicked just because you have to question everything in life.” The voices stopped and the footsteps began to fade as the men walked away.

 

    Panic once fought to rise to the surface, trying to take over any rational thinking I was capable of. I didn’t want to die! And what the hell data were they talking about? Pushing that question aside I wracked my brain trying to figure out a way to escape. The chair was too sturdy to break so rocking or twisting on it would not help at all. My eyes glanced down at the ropes and I knew that was my only option right now. Grimacing I started to pull wiggle my wrists to stretch the ropes or get them to move and it wasn’t long before they began digging into me, blood seeping from the wounds. The pain was intense but I couldn’t let it stop me. I refused to die here and now damnit, so I kept twisting and pulling, convincing myself that yes they were slowly coming undone.

 

    There was a moment where someone could be heard walking by the door and my breath froze, terrified of what was on the other side, but thankfully they kept walking, giving me no mind. Once the steps faded I continued my assault on my wrists. I knew this would leave horrible scars, but anything was better than whatever these people had in store for me. The tears were coming for steady now and the pain and the fear began to get to me. This HAD to work. I was tired, and knew I only had a few more tries in me so they needed to count. Holding back a scream I wrenched my wrists sideways quickly, praying to anyone willing to listen for help. Tears of joy mixed with tears of pain as I noticed the ropes had visibly loosened. Hope renewed me as I started writhing and wrenching my wrists again demanding that they come undone. Soon enough my ears were blessed with the sounds of one rope snapping and then another. Joy overwhelmed me as I looked down at my now free arms, though I still did grimace at the wounds they now had. Quickly I undid the ropes on my ankles and wobbly stood up. I was not sure if it was from blood loss, the wound or my head or anything else, but the room was spinning and I felt extremely tired.  

 

    Pushing the exhaustion aside I crept to the door and tested the knob. Thankfully I had been right about it being weak and was able to use the chair to knock off the handle, wincing at the sound it made at it crashed to the floor. Now was the hard part. I didn’t know where the hell I was or how to get out of this place, let alone without getting caught or killed. Quietly I opened the door and peaked around to see what my options were. Before me was a door to the right and a long hallway to the left. Deciding that the long hallway would have a higher chance of leading to an exit, I creeped out carefully listening for any sounds. At each open door I peeked in to make sure there was no one who would see my sad attempt at escape.

 

    I came to a room which held what sounded like the two men who had the conversation outside my door. Holding my breath I inched my way slowly pass the door hoping to not make a sound. It was as if each footstep was a bomb exploding upon impact, causing me to cringe and hope they were as stupid as they had sounded before. By the time I reached the end of the hall I released a breath I didn’t realize I was still holding and internally groaned because the hallway I had been following had lead to an intersection with another hallway. If Sherlock were here he would have some logical explanation as to why we should go a certain way, but I wasn’t Sherlock and my brain was not quite capable of being logical at the moment so I just picked a direction, hoping it would lead me to my savior and not my doom. There happened to be a stairwell at the end of the hall to the left, so I decided to aim for that. I had not seen windows in any room I had passed causing me to believe they had me in a basement.

 

    Luck seemed to be on my side since I was able to reach the stairwell without alerting anyone to my presence. Silently I climbed the stairs hoping it would lead me to some way out. Upon opening the door I was greeting with the site of another long hallway with a variety of doors and openings. I walked to the first one and peeked in carefully to make sure no one would be in there. Thankfully it was unoccupied and it sported a window! Hopefully you would be able to figure out where the hell you were by getting a glimpse of the outside. Moving as soundlessly as possible I walked into the room to get a glimpse of my surroundings. The river. Ok, so I was in a building near the Thames. I didn’t quite recognize what part of the river I was along, but the the houses in the far distance seemed to be in the style of most of those in London. Ok, I was probably still in London. That was a good thing. If i could get outside I could get to someone and call for help. I tried opening the window but it was bolted shut. I’d have to find another way out. Turning to leave the room, dizziness overtook me and I stumbled into as desk. Fuck, not now. I could not pass out now! Shaking my head seemed to clear it a bit and I slowly left the room forcing myself to move step by step. The next empty room had bolted windows as well as did the one across the hall. There had to be a damn door out of this place. As I walked down the hall I noticed that I had not seen any of the cartel members in a while and that was disconcerting. Just as I was turning to check another room I felt someone grab hold of me and a scream escaped my lips.

 

    “Now where do you think you’re going?” crooned a raspy voice. Thrashing side to side I tried to whip my head to see who had grabbed me but their hold on me was too strong. I kicked back towards my captor as hard as I could and grinned when I heard my boot connect with his legs. His grip loosened and I began to run as fast as I could, but my freedom was short-lived as they grabbed onto me and restrained me. Once again I was subdued with a hard knock to my already sore head and the last thought I had was that I was going to die here.

 

    I awoke dazed and extremely nauseous while trying to hold back any tears I had. Here I was in the run down room again but this time I was strapped to the chair with very strong straps of leather. As impossible as the situation seemed I still held hope that I could escape. My body ached like I’d been hit by a truck and and my head felt as if there was a jackhammer working in there. Who knew what damage my head had taken after these hits. As strong as I knew I had to be, memories of my brothers and what they had put me through kept plaguing me.

 

    My thoughts were interrupted by footsteps walking down the hall and then the door knob jiggling. The door opened and in walked in a tall man dressed in basic jeans and a green shirt. What really bothered me was the gun holstered at his side and the lack of feeling in his eyes.

 

    “So now you’re done trying to be rude, I have a few questions to ask you,” he sneered. I could feel his anger and his hatred pouring from him. “Where is the data and who did you share it with?”

 

    Data? Why did these people keep mentioning data? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

    “Ok. I’m going to ask one more time, where is the data?” His voice was laced with venom and I involuntarily shivered as his eyes bore into mine.

 

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeated.

 

    “LIAR!” he screamed while punching me square in the ribs. A groan escaped my lips as pain shot through my chest. “Do not fuckin lie to me! This is what happens! Now tell me!”

 

    Tears streamed down my face as I wracked my brain, trying to understand what this insane man was talking about. “Really I don’t know!” I forced out. Again I was met with a punch, but this time it connected with the side of my face causing my head to whip harshly to the side. As the tall man was about to hit me again, the door to the room opened again allowing a short stumpy man to walk in.

 

    “What the hell do you want?” growled my torturer.

 

    The short man seemed to shrink back towards the doorway. “Victor says you can’t kill her yet. We have to know where it is.”

 

    “Doesn’t mean I still can’t have fun hurting her now can I.” Wait… what did he just say? “Now get out of here and let me do my damn job!” he hollered. The smaller man gladly rushed out of the room shutting the door quickly. “Now, we’re going to have some fun my dear,” he whispered while staring at me. At that moment all hope I had been holding on to fled my body.

 

    Time seemed to move at a different pace during my torture. It could have lasted only a minute, or hours or days even. For a while I cried and screamed at each hit, at each impact, but soon it seemed as though everything had gone numb. Pain was something that didn’t exist anymore. Sure I knew I was being hit and I was very aware when he pulled out a pocket knife and started to cut into my skin, but the pain ceased to exist.

 

    Rather than focus on what was happening right in front of me, my mind thought of the two men who had become brothers to me. In my minds eye I pulled up an image of John and Sherlock. John, with his kind eyes and soft smile. His sandy hair that I always felt the urge to ruffle. Sherlock with his stern face and deep brown eyes that held more knowledge than people could ever know. His ever messy curly hair and that rare smirk he’d give me when I quick witted enough with my comebacks. Both these men had become so prevalent in my life in such a short time and my heart ached at the thought of leaving them. I didn’t want to leave them.

 

    The world around me started to darken as my consciousness began to slip away. My thoughts were of John, Sherlock and the friends I had made while in London. I thought of sweet Ms. Hudson who had taken care of me when I was sick and who always provided an escape for when John and Sherlock’s bickering became too much. Then there was Mycroft. So frustrating and so stubborn, but yet so charming and so captivating. The last thought before darkness consumed me was that I regretted not having more time with these amazing people who had become my family.

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

    The past 24 hours had been the most confusing of Mycroft’s life and he was not sure he liked it one bit. Sherlock had been the first to realize you’d been kidnapped and instantly was calling Detective Inspector Lestrade for help while John went searching the area for any sign of the kidnappers. The police arrived shortly and were combing the area along with Sherlock and John to look for any trace of evidence that might have been left behind while Mycroft had stood there watching.Mycroft was already on his phone calling his contacts trying to find get information on your whereabouts that he could.

 

    It was a weird feeling watching his brother become so frantic over someone, let alone a woman. John he understood, but his brother was an entirely different matter. Sherlock’s eyes were wide with fear and somehow he had become even more aggravating, yelling at every officer and telling DI Lestrade that he was worthless and should turn in his badge. Though it surprised him to see Sherlock act like this, Mycroft empathized with him. On the outside he looked cool and collected, but inside he was torn apart, bleeding and more lost than he’d ever been. It was when Sherlock had started to rip into a security guard for the museum about their need to go drown himself that Mycroft decided to step in.

 

    “Brother mine, yelling at people is not going to help anyone find her faster. Why don’t we head back to your flat and go from there. Remember, I have a wide array of connections we can use if needed,” he said calmly while trying to guide Sherlock out the door with John’s help.

 

    “What do you mean if? Of course they’re needed! She’s missing!” cried Sherlock as they got into a cab.

 

    Mycroft sighed and started to reply. “I understand-” when he was cut of by Sherlock. “No you don’t understand! You don’t feel anything remember? Caring is a disadvantage and all that nonsense you spout. You might not care that she’s missing but damnit John and I do and we’re going to do whatever it takes to find her with or without your unfeeling self.”

 

    The cab ride home was awkward as both Holmes brothers stared out their prospective windows while John sat in the middle feeling very awkward. As soon as they arrived at the flat, Sherlock launched out of the cab with Mycroft trailing behind him, leaving John once again to pay the fair.

 

    Inside the flat Sherlock sat in his chair and entered his mind palace to try to find anything to help ____. John went to make tea for the three of them while Mycroft took a seat on the couch and got out his cell phone. As soon as it was discovered that you were missing he had contacted a variety of his agents and teams to do a very thorough search of London and he had hackers and technology specialists monitoring all web activity to try to find any trace of you at all. It was bad luck that you had left your phone on the cafe table when you’d gone to the bathroom meaning they couldn’t trace the GPS in it to find your location. Not one of his people had an update for him yet and it was starting to get to him. He could feel his chest tightening with each minute that passed without any information.

 

    Frustrated and needing to think rationally Mycroft decided to go into his own mind palace to go sort out his thoughts. He walked through the pristine white halls in his mind that held a variety of doors. Each door had a plaque holding a basic description placed beside it allowing him to easily find which thoughts and information he needed. He passed the various ones that were job based, one that held social conventions and another that was devoted only to Sherlock until he arrived at the door that held information about acquaintances and those “close” to him. Walking inside he headed towards the folder that held all of your information but was shocked he found it to be missing. Mycroft was confused and concerned. No folder had ever gone missing before and this bothered him. He went back out into the hallway and was about to search room by room when he noticed a new door had appeared at the end of the hallway and it was slightly ajar. Intrigued and curious, Mycroft walked over the door so he could read the plaque. The only word on it was your name. Is this where your folder had gone? Tentatively he placed a hand on the door knob and pushed it open the entire way.

 

    Mycroft’s breath caught as he took in the sight before him. The walls for the room were entirely in a bright blue. Not too bright a blue that it hurt your eyes, but bright enough that it subconsciously cheered the soul. Rather than the typical wooden filing cabinets that occupied every other room, your room instead had a variety of bookshelves that held files and photographs. The files were almost every color he could think of and ones he had not even known existed. Some held things you were passionate about, some were things that made you smile, others held random things like how you took your tea and your favorite books.

 

     In the middle of the room there was stool with a table that held a scrapbook. Slowly, Mycroft walked to the stool and took a seat, trying to understand how all this had happened. He knew that he had placed items he believed to be pertinent in a folder that had been held in the other room, but for some reason his mind had rearranged everything and logged items he never knew he noticed. Things like how when you smiled your one side of your mouth would rise up slightly higher than the other creating a crooked cute smile. Like how your blue hair was usually up but when you did have it down it seemed to cause his breath to hitch. Or the fact that you had no problem verbally sparring those around you and always on a superb level. Curious what the scrapbook held, he reached out to open it and quickly closed it. This couldn’t be. Opening the cover again slowly, he was met with photos of you. There was a photo showing you the first time he had met you, a photo of you being held by Sherlock and John after your attack, one of you dancing in the rain and another of you at the banquet. Each page held more and more photos that he did not know his brain had created.

 

    Shaking his head, Mycroft left his mind palace and returned his attention to the flat. Sherlock still sat in his chair, deep within his mind palace it seemed while John was on his laptop drinking some tea. Slightly stiff from sitting for so long, he went to stand, grabbing John’s attention.

 

    “Oh hey Mycroft. Want some tea? I can make you some,” asked John, not sure how to really help the eldest Holmes.

 

    “If you’re offering yes please,” responded Mycroft as he went to stand at the window that overlooked the street. People were going up and down the street, moving on with their lives, not aware that an important woman had been kidnapped. It didn’t seem right that so many people were going about their lives as if nothing was different but for the three men in 221B their worlds had changed drastically.

 

    Hearing that John had returned with tea, he went back to sit on the couch. “Thank you John.”

 

    John stared at Mycroft trying to understand what was going through the man’s head. “You ok Mycroft? Contrary to what Sherlock said I know this has to be affecting you. I mean you do fancy her.”

 

    Mycroft sighed and leaned back into the couch shutting his eyes. “I don’t know if I’m ok John. I really don’t. These feelings… I’ve never felt them before and I have no idea how to handle them.”

 

    “Well, if you tell me I can try to help,” said John as his doctor side began to show.

 

    Shaking his head, Mycroft turned to look at the doctor. “It’s strange. My chest hurts, and not in the way it did when she was around. It’s as if breathing is becoming harder the longer we go without news. Thinking is more difficult because every thought I have turns into worry for her.”

 

    John nodded understanding how he felt well. “Is there anything else?” By this time Sherlock had returned from his mind palace and was staring at his brother trying to comprehend the words he was speaking.

 

    “My mind palace…. It’s different….” he said while recalling the new room that had been made. “You might understand this better brother mine.” Sherlock perked up upon hearing his name. “Your mind palace is very meticulous and organized, as is mine… but has it ever changed on it own?”

 

    A sigh escaped Sherlock. “Only once.”

 

    “Her,” stated Mycroft.

 

    “Um….” said John. “Could you two explain to me what’s happening since I do not think using a mind palace?”

 

    “That’s really your own fault John,” started Sherlock but Mycroft glared at him successfully shutting him up.

 

    “In our minds, we have rooms labeled with categories then within those rooms are files and information pertaining to the overarching category. We can change and rearrange the files and information as needed and organize the items however we want.” Mycroft paused thinking about the room that had sprung up. “My mind palace never changes or creates room unless I command it to do so. That is until today it seems.”

 

    Perplexed and intrigued John slid slightly forward in his chair. “So what happened?”

 

    “I went into my mind palace earlier to check the folder I had created for ____ to see if I could find anything that would help discover her whereabouts, but I found the folder to be missing. Upon closer inspection it seems my mind had created an entire room dedicated to her. Now understand, my mind palace is like an office. Everything is in its place, all the walls are white and every folder is in a wooden filing cabinet. It’s very much like my house to be honest. But… in her room it’s different. The walls are bright blue, there’s book shelves everywhere and every file is some type of color….. There’s even scrapbooks of her in there….. I don’t get it at all. It’s never done anything like this before and it scares me.” He turned to look at his brother. “What happened ro yours?”

 

    Sherlock’s face scrunched up as he thought about his weird mind palace experience. “Her information moved itself from the acquaintance section to the family files which alone was strange. What was stranger is that her folder was covered in designs and painted in her style. I think that was then I realized that I looked at her like a younger sibling.”

 

    Mycroft took a sip of his tea and thought for a moment. “By using that logic, the creation of the new room in my mind palace shows that I fancy her much more than I realized.”

 

    The doctor laughed. “Could have told you that without this mind palace talk. The way you look at her is obvious enough.” Mycroft just glared at him. “So.. what are you gonna do?”

 

    A sigh escaped Mycroft as he thought of you being held god knows where. “First I am going to do whatever it takes to find her. I already have my teams searching for her and I have hackers trying to find any trace of her kidnapper’s plans or movements. They’re to call me as soon as they find anything that could help.”

 

    “They have to be keeping her somewhere in London,” said Sherlock with a focused look. “They needed a place to easily transport her and most likely used a building that has been empty or barely used in a long time.”

 

    “Wait.. there’s a lot of old factories and office buildings along the Thames. Most of them are in decent shape but haven’t been used in ages,” responded John.

 

    “Yes!” exclaimed Mycroft as he sent out a mass text to his agents asking them to try to focus on more abandoned buildings especially along the river. “This has to be it. She has to be near!” Now all they had to do was wait a bit more.

 

    The moment Mycroft’s cell phone rang he felt his heart lurch in ways he never knew it could.

 

    “We found an old factory that seems to be one of their bases. Address to follow.”

 

    This was could be the news they’d be waiting for. He jumped up, rousing the other two men and quickly calling a car to come pick them up. John grabbed his gun and a few rounds of ammo in preparation while Sherlock paced around the living room nervously. The car pulled up to the front of the flat and all three of them rushed out to the car faster than they had ever moved before.

 

    The car ride there was the longest of Mycroft’s life. He’d never felt the sheer panic he was currently feeling, which just helped support his theory that caring is not an advantage. Once they found you he was going to have to think seriously on what he would do about his feelings, but only after they found you. Right now, he was going to allow himself to fret. The car pulled up to an older factory building that seemed to still be in decent condition. Agents were already preparing to swarm the building when the three men got out of the car.

 

    One of Mycroft’s more favorite agents came up to him. “Sir it seems that there are people residing in the building even though there is no one registered at this address. Also there is web activity coming from some of the rooms as well. We’ll move when you’re ready.”

 

    He turned to face his brother and John, asking for their confirmation when they nodded to him. This was it. He was going to get her back. “Alright. Go!” called Mycroft and the agents ran into the building preparing to take lives and prisoners.

 

    Mycroft, Sherlock and John ran in after them all holding guns at the ready. Mycroft ran as fast as possible, trying to find any sign of you. During his search he passed his agents taking down multiple men, but none of them mattered. His heart was racing and begging him to find you. He needed to know you were alive. He was only slightly aware that his agents were running around closing off the perimeter to catch anyone trying to escape. It wasn’t until he heard an agent hollar “Sir we think we found her!” that he found hope to latch onto. Following their lead, they arrived at an old metal door that held a keyhole style lock. Not ready to mess around, Mycroft grabbed his gun and shot the lock causing it to break and fall apart.

 

    Mycroft’s heart fell as wrenched open the door and his eyes fell upon you laying broken and beaten on the floor surrounded by blood. God no! His mind slightly registered that John called for an ambulance while he ran forward to check vitals. All he really remembers is that he fell to your side along with Sherlock, feeling just about as broken as you looked, and begging someone, anyone, to do whatever they could to help you.

 

    This was not the first time Mycroft had been in a hospital waiting for someone he cared for to awaken from their slumber. When Sherlock’s drug addiction was at its height, hospital trips and visits were common place to him, but this visit was on a whole different scale. The eldest Holmes had never been a nervous type. In fact most people thought him to be pretty calm, especially under pressure. He could easily diffuse a toxic situation without getting emotionally involved and was always the logical answer during an intense discussion between countries. But this moment for him was the most nerve wracking thing he had ever felt.

 

    His tall form moved up and down the aisles in the waiting room, hoping for news to be brought any second. Sherlock sat in a chair in his mind palace, most likely trying to solve another case to distract himself from the reality they were facing. John was sitting in a chair across from his flat mate, flatly staring at the television that was on and acting as white noise Neither one of them spoke a word or made a sound as they waited impatiently.

 

    Not soon enough a doctor came out and asked them to join him in a consultation room. Hesitantly Mycroft and the others followed the man in the white coat into a room too small for their number as they anxiously awaited any news.

 

    “Mr. Holmes. Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. I’m Dr. Good. I will give you the short answer first. Yes, she is alive, yes she will recover.” All the pressure in his chest seemed to quickly evaporate simultaneously, allowing Mycroft to feel he could actually breathe for the first time in hours.

 

    John was the first to speak up. “What exactly is her diagnoses?”

 

    “That is the more complex and less pleasant thing to explain.” Again Mycroft felt his chest tighten. Oh god what had happened to you? “First I must say that it is a miracle even that she survived so the injuries are quite extensive. She suffered a severe concussion, multiple broken ribs, a severe fracture in her right arm, and a break in her right tibia and she had an extensive amount of blood loss. Those are the more severe. The less severe involve her 62 stitches for knife cuts she had on her body and a large amount of bruising. If she had been found later she would have died of blood loss.”

 

    “No…..” whispered Mycroft as he stared down at the floor. Sherlock and John sat there eyes wide trying to take in what they had just been told. Were they really that close to losing her?

 

    “She’s quite stable now, but still asleep as we have her in a medically induced coma to help with the healing, but if you’d like you may visit her,” said the doctor with an empathetic look.  

 

    Sherlock was instantly up, followed by John and Mycroft as they followed the doctor to your room. Upon entering, Mycroft felt his heart drop. You laid there wrapped in a variety of bandages, covered in stitches and bruises and attached to a multitude of machines. Sherlock was the first to walk over and sit in the chair beside your bed, grabbing your hand gently, with tears falling slowly from his eyes. John stood on the other side of the bed in a state of shock, trying to understand what had happened and why it had to happen to you. Mycroft knew that the two men saw you as a sister and even with his knew found feelings, he felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He was about to leave the room when the doctor softly cleared his throat to grab everyone’s attention.

 

    “I do have a question about her previous hospital records that we received from her hometown in America.” Previous hospital record? What could he mean. Before Mycroft could ask the doctor Sherlock turned to look at him and shake his head.

 

    “What do you need to know?” asked the eldest Holmes, eyes back on the girl he had come to care for more than he could have ever known.

 

    “I know this is a difficult topic, but are you aware of her past experiences? The multiple breaks and scaring prove this was not her first run in with people with malicious intent.” Mycroft’s eyes grew wide as he saw the two men nod to the doctor. “I know she probably has trauma from her previous injuries, so we are worried this might bring those memories back in full force, but we will do everything in our power to help her stay calm and to assist in whatever you need. We have plenty of counselors available if needed.” Again the two men nodded, and the doctor said a quick goodbye and took his leave.

 

    As soon as the doctor shut the door Mycroft already was turning to lay into his brother. “What do you mean previous injuries? What the hell has she been through? What trauma?” He wasn’t sure he could become more upset than he already was.

 

    “It’s not my place to tell you brother mine and you know that. It’s her story to tell,” Sherlock sternly replied. “I am not going to betray her confidence, especially to you.”

 

    “But I-” started Mycroft but Sherlock continued as if his brother hadn’t begun to talk.

 

    “You do not get to know this information until she tells you herself! I don’t care what feelings you claim to have. You don’t even know what the bloody hell you want to do with them let alone her. You’ve hurt her enough already and you don’t get to magically start being apart of her life just because this happened. Damnit you have to earn it! So before you lay into me about you being the bloody British Government and all that bullshit you better damn well prove that you deserve to even be in her life.”

 

    This time John was the one to speak up. “We’re grateful for what you did Mycroft. Because of you we found her on time and that is such a wonderful thing, but she’s been hurt so much in her short life already and last thing she needs is you ripping open old wounds or creating new ones.”

 

    New pain ripped through Mycroft’s chest as he took in what his brother and the doctor had said and he realized they were right. He was not deserving of this information, let alone her. “Can I still stay please? I need to know she’s ok,” he croaked out. Sherlock nodded and Mycroft sat in a chair in the corner of the room, not close enough, but still allowing him to be present enough to keep him sane.

 

    Soon a week went by. Then another week. And before he knew it, a month had passed since your kidnap and torture. The three men had taken up an almost permanent residence in your hospital room, waiting for any sign of change. The doctors had removed you from the medically induced coma, but you were still in a coma of your own. They would take turns sitting by your side holding your hand, almost trying to will you to heal and wake up. John had said that there was a belief that coma patients could still hear you even if they couldn’t speak or if they were asleep, so the three of them had taken up various ways to communicate with you. John would come in and tell you all the latest gossip and news from the flat and the area. He’d update you on Mrs. Hudson on days she wasn’t able to visit and he would promise you all the things you’d do together once you were healed. Sherlock took a quieter approach, opting for his violin to do the talking for him. He would sit by your side for hours playing note after notes, songs flowing together, causing anyone in the vicinity to feel the emotions pouring through the music.

 

    Mycroft, with Mrs. Hudson’s permission had gone to your flat and brought in some of the books that had been on your bookshelf. He would sit by your side, lightly holding your hand with his thumb moving in small circles on your palm, reading page after page, hoping it would somehow reach deep within you and allow you to wake up.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

    Darkness surrounded me, making me feel as though I was swimming in the deepest depths of the ocean. I am not sure how long I stayed in those depths, unsure of exactly where I was or how I had gotten there, but I felt safe so the darkness did not bother me. There were moments where it felt as though someone had touched me, or that there was a noise off in the distance, but I would ignore those occurrences. Time seemed to pass, though how much was hard to tell, for I was surrounded by nothing but darkness, and eventually the feeling that I needed to do something seemed to infiltrate my mind. Not wanting to leave the comfort of the neverending darkness, I pushed those thoughts aside and went back to just floating.

 

    The need to do something seemed to grow as time passed. Each time I would push that feeling away, it would return stronger than before to the point it began to overwhelm me. Stranger still was that as the feeling grew, the noises, voices and music maybe, grew. The sense that I was being touched grew as well. Soon I was able to make out some of what the voices were saying.

_“I will never let you get hurt again. I’m sorry.”_

_“When you wake up you can help with any experiment. I promise.”_

_“Please… I don’t care if you hate me forever… just please… wake up... “_

 

    Wake up? Why did I need to wake up? The words the voices spoke made no sense, but they intrigued me. Who was calling to me? The more they spoke the more curious I became, the urge to find the origin of the voices becoming stronger. As the voices grew louder, the feeling of touch grew as well. It almost felt as if something was holding my hand, rubbing circles into it. My curiosity grew and as I searched for the source of these happenings, I discovered a floating orb of light off in distance. I floated through the darkness, slowly trying to get to it, but each time I moved towards it, it seemed to move away. I started moving faster, needing to know what that light was. It felt warm and welcoming and I began to ache for it. Soon the light was joined by the voices and sense of touch I had been experiencing. Were they all somehow connected? I needed to know.

 

    Light and color overwhelmed my vision as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. I blinked my eyes a few times trying to clear the image in front of me and the moment those muscles moved pain shot through my body. What the hell had happened? Slowly I stretched my hands, my feet, my arms. It seemed as though no part of my body was free from the aches and pains I was experiencing. As I slightly moved my right arm pain shot through me, causing what was supposed to be a string of curse words to escape my lips, but to my ears it only sounded like the moans of a wounded animal. Where the hell was I? Slowly I turned my head to take in my surroundings. The room was white, but there seemed to be a plethora of cards, balloons and flowers filling it, making it seem brighter and more homely. Sensing someone to my left, I tilted my head and grew even more confused to find Mycroft asleep in a chair while holding my hand.

 

    He looked so different when asleep, almost like a small child free of responsibilities and the problems of the world. A smile played across my lips, but then just as quickly when I tried to remember why I was wherever I was.

 

    Like a complex puzzle, my brain started placing pieces together, wanting answers. I remembered going to the museum with Sherlock, John and Mycroft, and I remembered the cafe… like a breached dam the memories of everything came flooding through me overwhelming me. A strangled cry left my lips as I relived those moments in captivity. Mycroft jolted forward, seeming alarmed at my cries, and held me gently trying to reassure me that I was safe and everything was ok now. Tears fell from my eyes as he tried to console me, but they refused to stop. His face filled with fear and he was suddenly calling nurses and and texting furiously on his phone.

 

    Only seconds later various medical staff came filling my room trying to keep me calm. As hard as I tried the tears wouldn’t stop, but seemed to be falling harder. Something pricked my arm causing me to cry harder, but before I knew it the tears slowly started to stop, as if someone had turned them off. Just as as strong feeling of drowsiness began to overwhelm me Sherlock and John ran into the room and suddenly I felt more at peace that I had since the whole ordeal had started.

 

    This time when I awoke, it was to the sound of a gentle violin melody, reminding me of the many times Sherlock had sat in his chair, playing random songs to help encourage his thinking process. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him so deep in thought.

 

    “I swear you play more beautifully than before Sherly” I croaked out, voice dry from not having been used in a month. He stopped his playing to help me drink some water and then picked up his violin, easing into another calming song. Feeling the need to sit up, I moved slightly, causing myself to wince in pain.

 

    “Don’t do that,” state Sherlock, looking at me in concern.

 

    Sure he was different and did not show his emotions and feelings the same way the average person did, but I knew he cared and loved me and was thankful I was alive. “I missed you too Sherly,” I whispered while reaching my left hand out to lay it on his knee. His playing stopped and his hand soon found mine, holding it gently.

 

    He was oddly quiet. Normally he’d be complaining about being stuck in the hospital or going on about a case or even the fact that I had touched him, but he said nothing. It was frightening to see this person I care about act so out of character for him. Just as I was about to question him, John walked into the room carrying food, but then almost dropped it when he saw that I was awake.

 

    “Oh god _____ you’re alright. We were so worried! I’m so glad you’re awake. How do you feel? Is there anything I can do for you?” Unlike Sherlock, John seemed to not be able to stop the flow of words leaving his mouth.

 

    Smiling, I reached out to grab his coat with my cast covered hand. “I’m fine. Very sore, but I’m alive which is more than I expected. How are you guys?”

 

    Taking a seat on my right side, he smiled one of the biggest I had ever seen. “Better now that you’re awake.”

 

    “I’m so glad,” I replied. “I missed you guys so much and I-” I stopped, realizing that I had been convinced when I was being tortured that I would never see them again. That thought cut through me like a burning hot knife. Before I could calm myself, a few tears escaped my eyes, slowly falling down my face. “I’m sorry” I whispered.

 

    John opened his mouth to respond, but Sherlock beat him to it, moving closer to me to wipe the tears from my eyes. “You don’t get to say that my dear. Ever. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

 

    “I know… but… if I had listened…” Those moments before I was captured replayed through my mind. This time it was John who answered.

 

“Listen… I get it… those thoughts would plague me when I was in the service, but I learned that worrying about the past isn’t going to help you. It will only cause pain. Instead you need to smile, move on and focus on the present and future.”

 

    “John’s right for once,” smarted Sherlock. “You’re alive. You’re expected to make a full recovery and we’re all together again.”

 

    This time the tears that fell from my eyes were those of happiness. I had my little family back and I was more grateful than I could say. Once I had calmed down enough I turned to face Sherlock again, but in his normal fashion he had deduced what I wanted to ask before I had a chance to do so.

 

    “It’s been a month ____.”

 

    Gasping in shock, I irritated my little used throat, causing me to have a coughing fit, which led to me groaning in pain from the various injuries I had. When I had regained my composure I looked at his brown eyes again. “Tell me everything. Now.”

 

    Knowing I wasn’t going to drop it, Sherlock sighed and took a seat beside me again. “Alright, but know you asked.” John made Sherlock pause before he texted someone and then looked at him to continue, but the detective just glared at him.

 

    Something had happened while I had been asleep and I didn’t like it. Sure the two of them argued as reguarllry as they breathed, but this was different. The air had grown a bit tense and it felt like they were having a mental battle with each other.

 

    “Fine. I’ll leave. Text me when I’m allowed back in,” grunted Sherlock as he went to stand, but I grabbed his hand in panic and pulled him towards me.

 

    “Please Sherly, don’t go. What’s happening? Someone tell me damnit!” He looked torn, his gaze flitting between me and the door, as if he knew he had a limited time to leave before something happened. Annoying he wasn’t going to say anything so I turned to John ready to beg. “J… please tell me. I deserve to know…” I whispered.

 

    He seemed to be thinking deeply when he sighed and nodded, sitting back down. “She’s right Sherlock. She deserves to know. Plus it’s not like we can hide it from her forever. She’s a part of this too.”

 

    “A part of what? What happened?” I was just getting more questions rather than answers.

 

    Again J sighed, and he held my right hand gently, making sure not to cause me any pain since my wrist and part of my arm was in a cast. “Sherlock and Mycroft are fighting.” The words that left his mouth floated through my ears causing me to think, but then I just chuckled.

 

    “Seriously? They always fight. Now really tell me what it is.” Why did he have to be joking?

 

    “I am serious ____. They won’t even be in the same room as each other,” said John, and I could tell by the sincere look on his face, that he was in fact not lying.

 

    “Ok… but… what about?”

 

    The two men who had become my family looked at eachother, but then Sherlock looked away, almost as if he was embarrassed. “You.” stated John.

 

    I stared between the two men blankly, seriously doubting what J had just said, until Mycroft walked in and the tension in the air about tripled. If looks could kill Mycroft and Sherlock would have destroyed each other, both partaking in one of the most intense staring contests I had ever seen.

 

    Anger boiled inside me. Seriously? I had just bloody woken up after being tortured and shit, and this is how they had to act? “Alright that’s it!” I hollered, once again inducing another coughing fit, causing Sherly and Mycroft to pause their feud to check on me. John handed me the water again and helped me drink. “I don’t know what the hell happened while I was out, but it needs to stop. I wake up and this is how you act? Sherlock. Mycroft. Both of you out!” Shock seemed to overwhelm them as they took in what I said. “Get out! You’re not allowed back in here until you two get over whatever the hell it is. Only John is allowed in here. So leave before I call security to kick you out.”

 

    Mycroft seemed flabbergasted. “You can’t kick me out I’m the bloody British Government.”

 

    “And I’m your brother!” cried Sherlock, just as confused as his older brother.

 

    “I don’t bloody care what either of you are! Get out now.” I closed my eyes, pushing back tears of anger. “John.. please…. Make them leave…” There seemed to be a small scuffle followed by the sound of the door closing and footsteps leading back to my bed. Upon opening my eyes, I was felt myself relax at the sight of only John, causing me to breathe with ease. He sat by my left side so he could hold my good hand and gave me a look of sorrow.

 

    “I’m sorry about them. I really am. Grown men who should know better honestly.” he grunted, seeming as if he knew what I was going to ask. He moved to sit next to me on the hospital bed, causing the bed to dip under his weight.

 

    “J… please…”

 

    He sighed laying down, and laid his head on the bed beside me, slowly collecting and organizing his thoughts. “I know.. Just… don’t get more upset at them then you already are. You know how the two of them can be.” Nodding he understood I wanted him to continue and sat up to look at me. “First, before I get into their problems and drama, would you like to know the extent of your injuries?”

 

    I had been too thankful to even be alive that I hadn’t given my injuries a second thought after I had awoken. The happiness of being back with people I thought I’d never see again overshadowed anything else. Now that John brought it up, a fear of knowing what I had suffered welled up inside me. I guess of all the people to tell me J would be the best person for this, so I nodded although a bit reluctantly.

 

    “Well as you know,” started John, “you were asleep for about a month, mostly in a medically induced coma so that you could properly heal. Besides the obvious like your concussion, you have a few broken ribs, the fracture in your arm and your broken tibia. You also have about 60ish stitches.”

 

    My breathing caught, realizing the extent of the damage I had received. No wonder everything hurt as much as I did. At that moment I was even more thankful that I lived than I had been.

 

    “When we found you…. It was bad ____. I thought we’d lost you.” John whispered, as if he was afraid to admit the terror he had felt. My hand squeezed his, trying to reassure him. “Sherlock of course was frantic, fearing the worst, and Mycroft… the man paced so much I’m surprised he didn’t wear a path in the waiting room floor. They were already at each other’s throats while we were looking for you. Sherlock swearing Mycroft doesn’t care. I’m surprised I didn’t kill either one of them.”

 

    A small chuckle left my lips as I pictured a fuming John stuck between the Holmes brothers. “So, what was the breaking point?”

 

    “Well, once you were out of surgery and we could see you, they started again. Sherlock swearing to Mycroft that he didn’t deserve to be here with you, because he’d hurt you and already caused you pain. Which honestly is ridiculous because we wouldn’t have found you if it weren’t for Mycroft and his agents. But.. it’s gotten worse. They're fighting over where you’ll recover, who will guard you and everything else for that matter.”

 

    “They do know I’m a grown ass woman capable of making my own decisions right?” I asked John wondering why the hell the two brothers were acting so much like children. “I mean, it is up to me where I recover and what I do. Also what the hell ideas did they have about my recovery. I mean obviously I’ll go back to our building and recover there.”

 

    He hesitated, seeming to question if he should tell me. “Well, I think it’s more up to them to tell you their ideas. Though I have no problem with you coming back to the building. Hell you can sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch so you can be more comfortable.”

 

    I smiled at J, so happy to have someone like him care about me to such a great extent. Sleep started to take over, telling me that I’d pushed myself too much and that I still needed to recover. Squeezing his hand I grew comfy and slipped off into a most welcome sleep.

 

    Consciousness embraced me again, rousing me from the well needed sleep I had gotten. The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the various machines that were hooked up to my body. My throat started nagging at me so my eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in my surroundings trying to find the cup of water that John had used earlier. Annoyingly it was placed on a tray to my right, meaning I had to turn my body painfully, leaning so my good arm could reach the cup. There was a form of someone to my left, but I didn’t wanna bother whoever was sleeping so deeply, so I leaned to the right, pushing back any pain I felt. The cup was just within my reach, fingers feeling as though they’re on fire as I stretched to grab it. Of course it was just my luck when I sent the cup tumbling off the tray onto the floor, waking up the person next to me with a jolt.

 

    “Touch her and you’ll die!” they screamed as they went to turn on the light. Once bathed in the fluorescent light of the hospital room, laughter tore from me as I took in the sight before me. Mycroft stood partially wrapped in a sheet, hair all over the place with a wild look in his eyes as he held his gun out, prepared to shoot an invisible intruder. Confusion covered his face as he noticed my laughing. “What? What happened?”

 

    After waiting a few moments for my laughter to die down, I took a deep breath. “I was thirsty and I wanted water, but my stupid ass knocked the cup over because of this asinine cast.” I honestly did feel bad for waking him and scaring him like that. “I’m sorry I scared you.” Before I could say more, he left the room leaving me wondering what I had done wrong, but quickly returned carrying a bottle of water with him. A small smile grew on my lips as he opened the bottle and handed it to me in my left hand, then sat back down in the chair. “Thanks.”

 

    “You’re very welcome my dear.” he replied.

 

    My dear? That was an interesting thing to call me. Too concerned with quenching my thirst I drank almost the entire bottle, thankful for the coolness that accompanied it. When I was done he took the bottle from me and helped cover me back up with the few blankets I had been given.

 

    “If you need anything please do not hesitate to wake me up. I’ll be here until noon tomorrow when I have to go to a meeting, but I will come back once it is finished.”

 

    “Ok.” I whispered unsure of what else to say. When did he come to the room and how long did he plan on taking turns with the other two to sit by my side. Closing my eyes, I laid back and tried to will myself to sleep, but was too distracted by the very handsome man sitting right next to me. His beautiful blue eyes, his soft brown hair and that look smirk he got when he knew something that you didn't. It really was unnerving having him see me so broken and bruised. How could he take me seriously during our next fight or argument after seeing me like this? In fact, why was he even here? Sure the guys said he fancied me, but this much? You had to be kidding. My thoughts were interrupted by something gently grabbing my hand.

 

    “I know hospital rooms aren’t the most comfortable, and Sherlock wouldn’t let me have a better bed brought in for you which I am sorry for. I did however get Mrs. Hudson to let me take some books from your flat to read to you while you were in the coma.” My breath caught momentarily at the thought of Mycroft in his very good looking glory in my flat reading my books. “They’re still here actually. Lay back and let me read you to sleep.”

 

    Too astounded to respond, all I could manage was a slight nod as I watched him walked over to a cabinet and grab a book from it. As he sat down I recognized the severely worn cover that he was holding gently. “Pride and Prejudice”, my most favorite book of all. Mycroft waited patiently until I was as comfortable as I could be, and then he began reading, his calm soft voice lulling me into a secure sleep.

 

    Two weeks passed in an interesting manor. John was in to see me every day, though he had gone back to working his shifts at the clinic. Sherlock and Mycroft still could not stand to be in the same room as each other, so they took turns visiting. Sherlock, insisting that Mycroft’s job was more demanding, insisted he visit mostly during the days. Mycroft though did not argue and just continued to read to me each night, or talk to me when sleep didn’t want to come. Neither one of them had spoken about their war with each other and they seemed content to just pretend the other didn’t exist. Their silent feud grew more annoying to John and I as we tried to act like the two brothers weren’t being childish.

 

    I’d been in the hospital now for a month and a half, and to say I was going stir crazy was an understatement. John was trying to encourage me as I attempted to draw with my non-dominant hand. My frustration kept growing as each simple thing I attempted to draw turned out to be an atrocity. When the doctor walked in to check my vitals and do his daily questions, I could hear the audible sigh John let out which caused me to grow a bit sad. It wasn’t as if I was trying to frustrate him. I know being with me all this time while I was going insane inside these same walls wasn’t the easiest thing for him to tolerate, so to hear the doctor utter the words “You can go home tomorrow” was the best gift I could have ever asked for. I was finally going to be released from this prison! After the doctor left the room, I turned to look at John, wanting to share my joy with him, but instead I found him sitting there with a frown.

 

    “J what is it? Aren’t you happy I’m coming home?” I asked, concerned for my dear brother.

 

    He shook his head, gaze returning to me and smiled slightly. “I am of course. I want nothing more than to have you back at 221B, but… this is exactly what the two children have been fighting about.”

 

    This had been going on long enough. These two were being children just like John said and it was going to bring me to my damn breaking point. Grabbing my phone, I texted both brothers, asking them to come visit me in the hospital since I was “very lonely”, knowing that they would happily oblige me. As I sat my phone on the table, John turned to look at me, confused about what I was doing.

 

    “Just watch young padawan. The master is going to show you how to beat sense into the Holmes brothers,” I said while smiling.

 

    Twenty minutes later both men came running into my room, shoving each other to be the first to arrive. Seriously, they were like children. Looking up, I put my drawing to the side and motioned for them both to sit.

 

    “Good. You’re both here. Now listen and listen good. John tells me that what you two are fighting over is my place of recovery. Why? I don’t know. I am a grown ass woman who can make my own decisions. The fact that the two of you thought you get to make this choice for me is asinine! So, to free you two of this burden I graciously will make this choice myself.” Pausing, I looked around to gauge their emotions. Sherlock was quietly holding his emotions behind his mask, while Mycroft had a look of confusion. Surely he didn’t think I wouldn’t take matters into my own hands when the two of them had made this hospital stay a bit more than unbearable. “As John can confirm, I have just been told I can leave the hospital tomorrow.” Both brothers opened their mouths to speak, but I sternly glared at them, sufficiently shutting them up. “While I will admit that the two of you have been wonderful while I’ve been here in prison, I must say that only John has been the one to truly try to keep me stress free and not add on to my worries. Now I don’t know what stance either one of you held, and honestly I don’t care. You’ve been too selfish in your fight with each other to listen to my request a few weeks ago and move on from this, so I am ignoring any input on my recovery except from J, since he is a doctor.” John smiled at me while holding my hand softly. “He says that I can easily recover back at 221, and I agree, but I will not be staying up in B. I will be recovering in my own flat away from you idiot brothers until you get your heads out of your asses. Now… you may leave.”

 

    Silence hung in the air while Sherlock and Mycroft stood shocked, mouths slightly agape. As the brothers left my hospital room, the anger I had held towards them dissipated, leaving me with just sadness and regret. Though annoying, I knew they were acting out of goodness, wanting the best for my recovery and the looks of hopes destroyed on their faces made my heart ache. I knew Sherlock would bounce back eventually, understanding rationally why I had acted as I did, but I was concerned about Mycroft. He didn’t know me as well, and a fear I didn’t expect crept through me, causing me to suddenly go cold. The fear that Mycroft would realize the inconvenience I’d been in his life and forget all about me.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

    Being wheeled out of the hospital that had become my semi-permanent home for the past two months was one of the best feelings in the world. Finally I could see more than the same white walls every single day. Even though I had berated them, Mycroft and Sherly both came with John to take me back to my flat which made me smile. The drive back was quick and as we pulled up to the flat my smile just grew bigger. I never had known that a front door could make you feel so at home. Upon noticing the ramp that had been placed over the stairs to make it easier for my wheelchair I chuckled, happy to be cared for so much.

 

    “I told John we couldn’t have you falling,” proudly stated Sherlock as he stood on the sidewalk watching his brother and flatmate grab my items and help me up to the front door.

 

    “Only because it finally got through your stubborn head that she can’t walk yet.” snorted John.

 

    Ah it was fantastic to be home. As John wheeled me up the ramp, Mrs. Hudson came and opened the door, tears of joy running down her face. “We’ve missed you so much my dearest! I don’t know what I would have done! I am just so glad you’re home with us!” She leaned down to give me a gentle hug then joined the procession to my ground floor flat, proceeding to open the door for me.

 

    Looking around my flat I choked back tears, feeling ecstatic to be back among my own things. While John got me situated on the couch, Mrs. Hudson walked out of my kitchen carrying a tray of sandwiches, tea and biscuits causing my mouth to salivate.

 

    “Mrs. Hudson… you are an angel I swear.” I stated while already reaching out to grab a biscuit. “You don’t know how dismal hospital food is! Especially when you have to eat it for days on end!” The rest of the group pulled up chairs to sit around and enjoy the small feast and just relax. John and Sherlock were still arguing about the ramp out front and whose idea it really was, while Mrs. Hudson had turned the telly on to one of her favorite soap operas, tuning out her two residents while Mycroft sat and watched slightly interested as if he’d never seen one before. I’d had my fill of sandwiches and got comfortable on the couch.  Closing my eyes I just listened to the people around me and the hum of everyday life at 221 was the lullaby that brought me to sleep.

 

    When I woke, the first thing I realized was that I was very warm. Not too warm, but enough to make sleep even more inviting. The next thing I noticed was that there was a sound like someone snoring which was quite impossible seeing as I had been the only one on the couch when I had fallen asleep. Curious to see which of my brothers had kept me company, I slowly opened my eyes and almost let out a scream but stopped myself when I recognized who I was laying on. Mycroft laid there sound asleep, head supported by the back of the couch with his left arm slightly over my stomach. This was such a rare moment, to see the powerful knight without his armor. His suit jacket was hung over the back of my desk chair, leaving him in now wrinkled dress pants and dress shirt. His stark white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, showing slight freckles on his arms while his waistcoat was unbuttoned slightly. On the floor were his shoes, neatly placed by the coffee table so they would be out of the way. I had to hold back a chuckle at how organized the man was even when asleep on my couch.

 

    After looking at his attire, I decided to take this chance to examine the man. There were slight wrinkles in his forehead, as though he was thinking deeply in his sleep, yet at the same time he looked more relaxed and at ease than I had ever seen him. A slight smile graced his face, showing a small hint of dimples in his cheeks. His lashes were quite long and beautiful while his hair was a bit messy and out place. For some strange reason I had a strong urge to reach out and gently stroke his cheek, but I fought against it. I could not like this man like that and I would not let it happen. I was about to embrace sleep again when the urge to go to the bathroom hit me. Internally groaning, I shifted slowly, trying not to wake the sleeping man beneath me, but of course I failed when his eyes shot open, then grew wide when they saw how we were laying.

 

    “Umm…. Sorry Myc-” I started to say but he cut me off.

 

    “Let me explain. You were sleeping and I was worried and-” His voice was panicked and his eyes seemed worried I would get upset, but honestly all I wanted to do was pee.

 

    “Mycroft… It’s fine. I just really have to the bathroom.” He still seemed confused, not moving or seeming to comprehend what I was saying while his sleep filled and panicked brain tried to catch up. “I have to pee,” I said while slowly trying to move to my wheelchair. I turned on his lap gently and forced myself to stand on my good foot to hop into my wheelchair, but tripped over his legs, causing me to fall back into his lap.

 

    “Damnit.. Sorry. Got it this time.” I tried to stand again to go around the other way when I was suddenly lifted up bridal style. Confused and slightly irritated I scowled at Mycroft. “I can do this myself thank you very much. I have to learn how anyway,” I said.

 

    My words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he continued to carry me, now walking over to my bathroom. Once inside, he gently placed me down, but rather than leave the bathroom he just stared at me, eyes lingering on the bruises and stitches that covered my arms. As much as part of me liked him staring at me, I really had to pee, and the other part of me was scared of why I liked it.

 

    “Um…. Mycroft?” I softly said, which seemed to jar him from whatever thoughts he had and made him realize he was still in the bathroom with me.

 

    “Forgive me. I will wait out here for you,” he said while quickly exiting the bathroom and shutting the door. After I went to the bathroom I sat on the edge of my tub, collecting myself. Why had Mycroft stayed and what did he even want? Surely I was just a distraction from the more important factors of his life. He was the British Government. Protecting one woman like me was nothing compared to the political issues he dealt with on a daily basis.  Shaking my head I hobbled over to the door opening it and slightly surprising the eldest Holmes.

 

    “What are you doing?” he chastised while picking me back up. “You need to be resting, not walking around on your broken leg.” He then walked me into my bedroom, pulled the covers back, and laid me down gently.

 

    I couldn’t help but stare at him in shock and before I knew it the word “Why,” escaped my lips. Mycroft seemed torn on what to do, glancing between the door and me, but then decided to sit down on the side of my bed, the bed dipping slightly under his added weight.

 

    He took his time answering, seeming to collect his thoughts while looking through the famous Holmes’ Mind Palace. “First you’ll have to understand that talking of emotions and the like is not something I typically partake in. Caring is a disadvantage you see, so I do my best to avoid it. Especially since taking care of Sherlock is almost all I can handle.” Mycroft paused for a moment, staring at one of my paintings on the wall absentmindedly. “I don’t know what it is, but you intrigue me. You’re brilliant, obstinate and fiercely strong. I can’t read you like I can everyone else. Honestly, you’re nothing like the goldfish I assumed you to be when we first met.” Again he paused, this time his hand reached out to gently trace the scars the ropes had left on my wrists. “Sherlock was beside himself when we discovered you were taken. He and John would move mountains for you.”

 

    I smiled, thinking of my two brothers and how much I loved them and cared for them. “I know Mycroft, and I would do the same for Sherlock if that’s what you’re wondering. They’re so precious to me….” My voice drifted off as I thought of those moments of torture and how terrified I was that I would never see everyone again. Shock overtook my face when Mycroft suddenly reached up and gently wiped away a few tears I had not realized had escaped my eyes.

 

    “I know. You’re stubborn enough that you’d do anything for them. I’ve learned that. You won’t let anything or anyone get in your way. Including me.” He lightly caressed my cheek then dropped his hands back into his lap. Once again silence hung thickly in the air, like a wall of fog. Mycroft seemed to be thinking deeply while I stared, confused and not quite understanding the feelings that both of us felt.

 

    Mycroft then spoke, so softly that I almost didn’t hear him. “I was terrified.” My eyes shot to meet his, trying to understand what he was saying. “When we realized you were kidnapped… it was the most terrified I’ve ever been.”

 

    Eyes growing wide, I shifted a bit more to get a good look at his face, trying to comprehend what exactly he had said.

 

    Once again he reached out, gently tracing the scars on my wrists. “The moment we ran into that room and saw you on the floor covered in blood.. I… we… thought you were dead.” The man before me took a shaky breath, eyes focused on my wrists. “I was angry. I wanted to kill the men who did this to you with my bare hands. Personally, I still do.” Mycroft paused, looking into my eyes, and it surprised me how unsure he looked. He seemed like the type of person who knew exactly what he wanted and how to go about it so to see him looking so confused and disarmed was slightly jarring. Had anyone else seen him like this before? “To finally answer your question, I truly don’t know ‘why’. All I do know is that you make me feel things I don’t understand and do things that are irrational. The only feeling I really understand is that I refuse to let anyone ever hurt you again and will do anything in my power to protect you and keep you safe.”

 

    My breathing froze as I registered the words he had just said. Mycroft had somehow gone from believing me to be his brother’s demise to wanting to protect me? Why in the hell would he do that? A part of me knew what could cause that change, but I was afraid to admit it, because then I would have to think about my feelings as well. Falling for Mycroft Holmes would not be smart. All he would do is hurt me…. Right? I shook my head to try to rid myself of those thoughts. Gently, Mycroft took my hands, his large ones dwarfing my smaller ones, both of our hands rough yet soft. My heart jumped slightly at the sight and feeling.

 

    “I know you don’t trust me, nor do you like me, but as I said before, I’d like to try to fix the hurt I’ve caused.” My heart was pounding so loud I swear that everyone in the building could hear it. “Just please let me protect you. If not for yourself, but for my brother and John. For me. Please.”

 

    To hear him beg to let him protect me caused my stomach to do flips and my heart to speed up even faster. How was he even doing this to me? His blue-grey eyes stared into mine, waiting for an answer, but my voice seemed to have disappeared so all I could manage was a small nod. That seemed to be an acceptable answer for him because a small smile formed on his face, but then he shocked me again, leaning forward and his lips brushing against my cheek in a feather light touch. Now my heart completely stopped, barely recovering as he stood up and walked back into my living room. Swiftly he returned with my wheelchair and placed it right by the bed before putting my phone on my night stand.

 

    “Goodnight ____, and please call any of us if you need anything, though I would prefer if it was me you called first,” he softly spoke, still seeming unsure of what he was doing. With those words he bowed his head slightly and left my bedroom, the only indication of him leaving was the soft click of my flat door shutting and locking. I lay there in shock, trying to wrap my head around what had just occurred and I could only come to one conclusion. Mycroft Holmes really did fancy me.

 

    The following morning was one of the most frustrating that I had ever experienced.  I woke up slightly refreshed, but very sore since there really was no good position to sleep in when your entire body had been beat to a pulp. After making a dismal breakfast of cereal because I was too sore to stand to make bacon and the wheelchair was too short to correctly reach the stove, I tried my hand at a shower. Failing multiple times at even getting into the shower, I gave up and tried to wash my face and arms from the sink. Tired and already fed up with the day, I wheeled over to my easel, adjusting it to my new height and then placed a blank canvas on it. My brain was still full of Mycroft and his words, and I needed something to get rid of them. Picking up a brush, I began to put color on the surface, not really painting with an outcome in mind.

 

    As colors began to blend and overlap, my brain still was rushing around, thinking over every memory I had with Mycroft. From the first time I learned he was Sherlock’s brother, to last night with us holding hands and him kissing my cheek. Recalling the previous night only made my face burn, and the silence of the flat was not helping at all. Desperate for my brain to quiet, I paused only to turn on bluetooth speakers, randomly selecting a playlist and letting the music wash over me. It was amazing what music and painting could do to the mind. Instant calm washed over me as I began singing along to the various songs that were coming through the speakers. My smile only grew bigger as I realized how successful my plan had been and that painting with my non dominant arm was not as difficult as I had first feared.

 

    Time seemed to slip by and before I know it someone was knocking on my door breaking me from my deep concentration. I paused Florence and the Machine and called for whoever to come in because I didn’t feel like getting in my wheelchair and going the whole way to the door and back. Jon opened the door and walked in followed by what seemed to be an unwillingly Sherlock.

 

    “Hey guys!” I was so happy to see them. “What’s up.” They walked over to where my easel was and looked at what I had painted so far.

 

    “That’s bloody brilliant ____,” said John. “And that’s with the left arm? You're seriously amazing.”

 

    Sherlock groaned, and rolled his eyes in a dramatic way that only he could pull off. “Yes, she’s smart and talented we get it John. Get to the point.”

 

    “Um….. what is the point?” I asked slightly confused.

 

    John gave me a soft smile and gently took my hand. Right as he did I couldn’t help but compare his smaller hand to Mycroft’s larger one, and how warm and welcoming the latter had felt. Annoyed with myself I pushed that thought away and tried to focus on the sandy haired man in front of me. “Well, we were thinking,” he started, but Sherlock gave him a pointed glare, meaning none of this was his plan in the slightest causing me to chuckle at their interaction. “Oh fine, I was thinking since Sherlock wants nothing to do with planning. You’ve been in a hospital forever and well, I wanted to take you out, maybe for dinner and a walk in your favorite park. I guess walk is the wrong word since you have the wheelchair.”

 

    Poor man started to ramble but all I could do was smile and gently squeeze his hand. “J I couldn’t love anything more than to spend some time with my boys.” Pausing for a moment, I looked at my attire and realized paint splattered clothes were not the best way to go out in and sighed. “But, first I have to somehow change. And let me tell you, nothing is easy right now.”

 

    The two of them shared a quick look before hollering simultaneously, “Mrs. Hudson!” who which came running into the flat at lightning speed.

 

    “Oh dear what is the matter?” asked the grey haired woman, eyes scanning me for injuries or anything slightly out of place.

 

    “Sorry Mrs. Hudson,” I chuckled. “Seems I need help changing my clothes and the boys here are freaked out by that.”

 

    “Oh well that’s their problem. I’ll help you get ready in a jiffy. Plus these men wouldn’t know what to do to help a girl feel decent. I doubt they even know how to brush hair!”

 

    The two men scowled at Mrs. Hudson as we laughed at their expense, and then she shooed them out of the flat so that she could properly help me get changed.

 

    Mrs. Hudson was honestly the most wonderful woman I had ever met. She was able to keep the conversation flowing all while brushing through my hair and helping me put a bit of a makeup on to cover some of my bruises. After looking through my closet for a moment, we decided on a simple pair of jeans and a dressy short sleeved sweater. The woman was such a saint, patiently working with me as I tried to wiggle my various body parts into openings in the clothes. As she continued to help me, I couldn’t help but be in awe of the older woman who was my landlady. Rather than a tennent she was treating me more as a friend or daughter and I loved that. Who would have known that I would have found my own little family here at 221 Baker Street?

 

    Before I knew it, Mrs. Hudson had me looking like a decent human being and not just someone who had the crap beat out of them. She wheeled me out to the front of the building where John and Sherlock stood waiting. They both smiled brilliantly as I cheered at being out and about again.

 

     Right before we set off, John invited Mrs. Hudson, but she declined, saying, “Oh no it’s fine. You three go along. I have washing to do and the dramas that I must catch up on. Just have a good time and bring me some stories!” She waved us off as John began pushing me down the sidewalk with Sherlock walking along side. After a short walk we arrived at a small family owned Italian place that was a personal favorite of ours. Inside we were greeted by the owner, Angelo, who brought us over to a table, letting us get situated before taking our orders.

 

    Laughter bounced around the room as the three of us swapped stories and made fun of each other. It had all started when John pointed out that Sherlock was still wearing his slippers.

 

    “Well if we’re pointing out obvious things,” stated Sherlock, “I would like to bring to your attention that there is pasta sauce on your cheek, your right sock is 4 millimeters lower than your left and your hair is still greasy because you skipped washing it this morning.”

 

    This just caused John to start to pick apart Sherlock’s appearance as retaliation. Soon it became an all out battle of pride between the flat mates and I could not help but laugh at their interactions. This was so commonplace for them that it helped me feel normal and happy. Once we finished dinner and John paid, because Sherlock would never willingly pay for anything, we left the restaurant, waving goodbye to Angelo, then heading towards Regent’s Park.

 

    Being outside amongst nature was such a wonderful thing. The three of us seemed to meander through the park with no goal in mind. At one point we came across a bench by a pond and I urged John to stop so we could sit for awhile. Sherlock grimaced at the thought of “admiring” nature but I pouted, begging him to stay.

 

    “Please Sherly. You can go into your Mind Palace. I just wanna sit here for a bit. This is one of my favorite places in the park. Plus I finally get to be outside after being in that boring hospital for months.”

 

    “Alright,” he answered while pouting and sat down on the bench next to John, closing his eyes while he went into his mind palace.

 

    I laid my head on John’s shoulder and the two of us sat there staring out at the pond and the various wildlife that resided in the area. Honestly it was a perfect day. The only way it could get better was by having my paints with me to capture the beauty we were surrounded by. The sun’s rays were shining through the leaves on the trees, causing the world to seem even more colorful. The ripples of the water as ducks swam across were almost intrancing and the smell of the freshly cut grass was about enough to complete the serene and heavenly scene. Soon I began to people watch, but quickly decided this was a bad idea. I felt my nose crinkle and I frowned while biting my lip as I saw parts of the eldest Holmes in others, or I found myself comparing them to him. My mind had been having an internal struggle for a while when Sherlock suddenly stood up and exclaimed, “Ok this nature thing is done, I’m going back to the flat. I need to think. I expect you to make tea when you come back.” He quickly kissed the top of my head and stalked off in the direction of Baker Street, ignoring the looks John and I gave him.

 

    John sighed. “I swear, that man is going to drive me mental.”

 

    “But we love him just the same,” I chuckled while sitting up and turning my wheelchair to face the walkway. “Guess we better be heading back before Sherlock destroys the flat with a tantrum of boredom.”

 

    Once back at the flat, I said goodnight to John as he ran up to keep an eye on Sherlock and wheeled myself into my flat. Letting out a small sigh I looked around the flat that felt very empty compared to the one upstairs with the two men shouting away. It wasn’t that I was lonely, though I did miss being able to go up those stairs to see them. It was more about how helpless I felt. I couldn’t properly shower, or cook and my flat was definitely not made with handicaps in mind.

 

    Pouring myself another bowl of cereal and grabbing a banana off the counter, I took myself into the living room and turned on the telly for some background noise. As I ate my snack I pulled out my phone and went through my various emails, seeing which customers would be willing to wait for their commissions since I obviously was not fit enough to be painting and drawing to their expectations. Thankfully most of them were very loyal and willing to wait for me to heal, but that led to another situation. My bank account. It wasn’t that I didn’t make enough money, but I had to make sure I had enough in savings to cover bills and expenses while I was unable to work. It seemed that I had enough to last me maybe a three months, and I was hoping by that time I would be better and able to actually draw again. The thoughts in my head once again grew jumbled, overtaking my earlier good mood like thorny vines choking the life out of a tree. Wanting them to stop, I turned on my music again hoping that it would drown out the negative thoughts that were starting to spread. At first, the music did help. I was able to close my eyes and sing along, but suddenly a song I should have avoided began to play, “Bad Liar”. I knew I should have just skipped it, especially after what happened with Mycroft the previous night, but I couldn’t help but let it play.

 

  _I was walking down the street the other day_

_Tryna distract myself_

_But then I see your face_

_Oh wait, that's someone else_

_Ohh, tryna play it coy_

_Tryna make it disappear_

_But just like the battle of Troy_

_There's nothing subtle here_

 

    Now rather than just thoughts of my injuries and how they had hurt my job, I was thinking of Mycroft and what he had said last night. What had he meant by all of that? All I really know is when he had held my hand or looked at me, my heart jumped and it felt as though my stomach was doing summersaults. Even just remembering the gentle kiss he placed on my cheek had my face heating up and turning red. It couldn’t be true. How could I have gone from despising the man to being attracted to him? It was impossible. Frustrated, I wheeled myself to the bathroom and did my best to undress, knowing I needed to shower or something to unwind. I groaned as I tried to wrap both my casts in bags and tape to keep the water out. Not only couldn’t I draw, but now I couldn't take a proper shower! Frustrated I threw the bags on the ground and tried to dress myself again, but found it to be a difficult task. Partially dressed, I wheeled myself into the living room to change the song as the next verse came on, just increasing my thoughts of Mycroft.

 

   _I see how your attention builds_

_It's like looking in a mirror_

_Your touch like a happy pill_

_But still all we do is fear_

_What could possibly happen next?_

_Can we focus on the love?_

_Paint my kiss across your chest_

_If you're the art, I'll be the brush_

 

    I refused to have feelings for the Ice Man. As nice as he was last night and while I was in the hospital, the only way things would end would be in my heart break and it could not happen. It would not happen. His gentle touch, the intelligence in his eyes, that smirk when he knew something you didn’t. I refused to let myself fall for these things. It could not happen. Grabbing the remote I desperately tried to change the song, but somehow ended up hitting the volume. What the hell was wrong with me? How could he cause these thoughts that messed with my head and my actions? In a desperate plea to turn off the song I forgot about my various injuries and stood to walk towards the speakers, when I slipped on one of my pant legs that had not been fully pulled over my foot, causing me to fall down, smashing my head into the floor. As I fell ,I cried out as loud as possible, hoping that Mrs. Hudson or someone would hear me over the music. While my consciousness began to fade the final words of the song played making me wonder if I should maybe listen to it.

 

_With my feelings on fire_

_Guess I'm a bad liar._


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Appalled with his behavior of the previous night, Mycroft set about doing everything at work that he possibly could. Extra meetings were scheduled. Additional phone conferences were had. He swore Anthea was plotting his murder with how hard he was working everyone. Even though he knew he was being unfair, he just couldn’t help it. He had to distract himself from his thoughts of you and what he had said and done. How could he even think that you’d care for him? You’d been hurt by him repeatedly and frankly he knew you deserve someone much better than him. Someone who wasn’t as busy or someone who didn’t have as many enemies as he did.  


Even after all the meetings were done and he had told his staff they could to home to their families, Mycroft stayed there at his desk, slowly nursing his scotch while he stared down at various files on his desk. He surely could have called it a night and gone to Diogenes or even home, but he was afraid to be alone with his thoughts and worse he still worried about you. He had made sure they caught everyone who had been in the old building you were held in, but none of them were speaking, and those who did knew nothing of the person in charge of the entire thing. The only thing of importance he had learned was that there was someone higher than the cartel who was pulling the strings. Currently Mycroft was pouring over files of high level criminals who would have the power to control a cartel as large as the Zatarra Cartel, but frankly he was finding nothing. Groaning, he knew that as much as he despised it, he needed to ask for his dear brother’s help. God did he loathe these moments. He was about to try to find a reason to put it off, but then he realized it would be a good reason to see you and to see if he had ruined everything between you.  


Calling his driver, he walked out of the office at a brisk pace, and got into the car heading to the well known 221 Baker Street. Once there he decided to talk to Sherlock first before calling on you. Plus there was music blasting from your flat so you were probably painting. Inside he found Sherlock laying on the couch deeply thinking while John was making tea. The flat seemed empty without your presence and it made his heart ache even more. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he focused himself and took a seat in his brother’s seat.  


“Brother mine, I need your assistance for a case,” he said while staring expectantly at the youngest Holmes. Like usual his only response was a groan and making it more of a point to ignore Mycroft. Seriously, his brother was wonderful at acting like a child. “Sherlock I am serious. This is about ____.”  


As soon as those words were said, Sherlock shot up like a bolt of lightening, focus fully on his brother. “Why what happened? What did you hear?”  


“Nothing. And that’s the problem,” responded Mycroft. “My agents have found absolutely nothing else on the cartel and the mystery person that so kindly employed their services.”  


Sherlock smirked at his brother, knowing the reason for his visit. “Since your people are so incompetent I will help, though I happen to be emotionally involved in this case as well, giving it stronger weight. They still do not know what ‘data’ she supposedly has and you would like me to figure that out, hoping that will solve the case.”  


“Exactly,” Mycroft answered while looking pointedly at his brother. John walked in bringing tea for the three men and sat down in his chair watching the two brothers stare at each other. “Hello John.”  


John seemed slightly taken aback at being told ‘hello’ by any Holmes, especially the eldest one which caused Mycroft to internally smile.  


Sherlock’s gaze flitted back and forth between his brother and flat mate for a bit before he spoke. “Now brother dearest, I do have one question for you.”  


“Whatever could you want Sherly.” responded Mycroft, earning a scowl from his brother.  


“How come you came here before going to talk to my flatmate that you happen to fancy?”  


Mycroft’s face went slightly red as he quickly controlled his feelings and put on his stoic mask again. “Her music is playing, meaning she must be painting or focused. Therefore I did not want to be bothersome.”  


It was now that John spoke up. “You know, she has been playing that music for a while, and it suddenly got a lot louder earlier. I’m going to go check on her. Being cooped up and not being able to move as freely might be getting to her.”  


Internally, Mycroft knew that John was fully capable of checking on you, and he knew that being a medical professional, he was the best suited, but a part of him seemed to cringe at the thought of John touching you. Standing up, he seemed to shock the others. “No it’s fine. I’ll go check on her. I have to go ask her some questions as it is.” His mind groaned at how idiotic he sounded, coming up with stupid excuses to go talk to you, but he was honestly willingly to do anything to keep Sherlock from teasing him. Leaving his umbrella and other items in flat B he walked down the stairs and knocked on your door, but frowned when there was no answer. Curious, he tried to turn the knob, but was met only with a locked door.  


Panic began to flow freely as Mycroft ran upstairs to his brother’s flat yelling, “She’s not answering and her bloody door is locked!” Grabbing the spare keys he bolted back down the stairs, heart racing as he imagined endless terrors you were experiencing. Hands shaking, he managed to unlock the door and threw it open, running in while being followed by Sherlock and John.  


Flashbacks wracked Mycroft as he fell to your side, shaking you and holding you gently, begging you to wake up. All he could see was you lay in a pool of your own blood on the cold cement floor of the decrepit office, your life leaking from you. All rationality and reason had fled as he began to panic, calling out to you, begging you to wake up. John rushed to your side, his training kicking in as he checked vitals and other various things.  


“Call an ambulance. She hit her head. Any damage on top of what she already is recovering from can’t be good.” yelled John as he kept a close eye on your vitals.  


Mycroft vaguely registered someone calling the medics as he just stared down at you, tears of sadness and anger slipping from his eyes. He knew he should have stayed with you rather than leaving the previous night. Anger at himself and his brother welled up inside him as he chastised himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the whine of a siren and then the sound of feet barging into the room. Jogging, he followed the men as they carried you out to the ambulance and automatically went to get in when Sherlock stopped him.  


“You can’t go with her. We’ll take the taxi” he stated while already flagging one down, but nothing could deter Mycroft right now.  


“I am the bloody British Government and if I want to go make sure someone I care about lives then god damnit I’m going to!” he cried while jumping into the ambulance before the medics could close the doors. He didn’t care about the astonished look on his brother’s face or the slight smirk that John’s held. All he cared about was your safety and wellbeing. 

Too soon he was pacing the waiting room again, wondering what was taking so long? “Bloody hell, why is the doctor taking forever? We need to see her damnit.”  


Sherlock and John shared a look, but also were upset about not being able to see you. You are their sister and they loved you very much. Sherlock, as observant as he could be, struggled to understand why Mycroft was acting so out of character, but for John it was clear as day.  


“Mycroft, why don’t you come sit down. They’ll come get us as soon as they’re able. Pacing isn’t going to make them move faster. Plus how can you be there for her if you tire yourself out?”  


It was the final statement that got through to Mycroft, making him realize that by beating himself up mentally and tiring himself physically, it would make it harder for him to take care of you. Against his will, he took a seat across from John, tapping his foot nervously. He was annoyed at himself for his rational side was gone. His Mind Palace seemed to be locked and the only door open was the one to your room. Retreating into your files, he went through his various memories with you, and tried to go over every single thing that could make you happy. The more he looked, the angrier at himself he grew, hating himself for not protecting you, once but now twice. A hand on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts causing him to jerk slightly before realizing it was John in front of him.  


“It isn’t your fault you know.” he said while taking a seat next to the eldest Holmes, while the youngest brother looked on confused.  


“Is it not? Because it honestly is. Twice now I have failed to protect her. How can I expect her to care for me if I can’t protect her? How can I provide for her and be the optimal mate she needs if I can’t protect her. Hell I can protect the country but not her?” His self pity kept growing as he stared down at his hands.  


Sherlock’s eyebrows quirked up, pondering the direction of the conversation. “Optimal mate? No I tell you, no. I won’t let you or her happen.” he huffed. “And you’re correct in stating you’re not right for her at all. You’re too tall and not as built as most women prefer. You have dedicated your life to Queen and Country and therefore would never be able to put her first as she deserves. Not to mention the fact you understand nothing about courtship and wooing.”  


Through anger at his brother welled inside of him, the most dominant emotion he felt was agreeance. Everything Sherlock had said was true. He wasn’t the preferred body type, no matter how much he dieted and exercised. His job would always come first. No matter what the security of the country would need to placed first. Each thought caused his mood to sour even more and his self esteem to dip even lower.  


Before he could answer his devilishly tongued brother, John spoke up in his defense. “Sherlock knock it off. First off, what the bloody hell do you even know about love or anything of the sort? Second, if Mycroft finds the right person, he’ll want to put her before everything, including his job and knowing his determination, he’ll figure out a way to do it. So stop fighting and focus on why we’re here and how we can help ____. Obviously she can’t be alone no matter how much she protests, so we need to figure something out.”  


Mycroft grimaced. Leave it to his brother’s average flat mate to be the voice of reason for once. Though he wanted to delve into his mind Palace to figure out why you had such a powerful effect on his mind, he knew that your recovery needed to be taken care of first. “You’re right Dr. Watson. Because of your expertise in caring for others and your knowledge of the medical cariety, I believe that she should recover in your flat. I understand the stairs are an issue, but I can have a lift installed quickly so that we can minimize accidents.”  


“I for once agree with my brother dearest.” replied Sherlock with a smirk on his face. “We shall inform her once she’s awake. Now that that’s settled, I’m going to visit Molly and see if she has any body parts for me.” As he began to stand up, his flatmate spoke.  


“I actually disagree.” Both brothers’ heads whipped around to face the doctor who was now blushing slightly. “As much as I’d love to have her at home, 221B is not the safest place in the world and even if we protect her from herself, it would not help in protecting her against whoever is out to hurt her.”  


“And where do you suggest we keep her John? Since you’re so brilliant suddenly, picking apart my flawless plan.” scowled Sherlock.  


Wanting to avoid any fights in the waiting room John answered, “That I will tell you AFTER I talk to ____ about it. Ultimately it has to be her decision. You know forcing her isn’t going to work.”  


A small chuckle escaped Mycroft, causing the other to men to be slightly startled. “What? It’s true. She’s too stubborn for her own good.”  


It was at this moment that a doctor entered the waiting room, asking for them to follow. Once again they were led into a small side room to talk about your diagnosis. Once the three of you were settled he began to talk. “Thankfully there is nothing severe this time. Just a minor concussion, but still not to be taken lightly since she is already recovering from her previous injuries. ____ needs lots of rest and care and should not, in any way shape or form, be left alone. Dr. Watson I would have expected better of you. Well, now that you know, you can go to her room. She’s quite awake and very insistent to go home as soon as possible.”  


The three men practically ran to your room so they could see you. Once arriving at the door, there was a slight shuffle over who was going to go in first, but Sherlock pushed past Mycroft and John so that he could enter first.  


Whatever anger Mycroft held towards his brother, that all faded the moment he laid his eyes on your face. For some reason it felt as if every negative emotion and thought turned to liquid and poured out of him. There you were on the hospital bed, already chewing out Sherlock for pushing his way through the door.  


“Sherly how many times do I have to tell you? Pushing past people is not polite!”  


“But I was so excited to see you, plus they can wait. Simply put, I’m the most important out of all of us.” replied his brother, earning a glare from you. It was now John’s turn to go up to the other side of your bed, checking your chart and vitals to see how you were doing.  


“Minor concussion on top of what you already had. Bloody hell sis, you gotta be more careful. We’ll have to put you in bubble wrap to keep you from hurting yourself at this rate” he joked, earning a small laugh from you.  


Sherlock and John proceed to make jokes with you, earning more laughter from you. Laughter which seemed to caused Mycroft’s heart to squeeze and speed up. It seemed like it was years ago when his heart had showed similar symptoms and he had falsely assumed he was sick, rather than developing feelings for you. A small smile grew on his face as he remembered how wrong he had been. As he watched you smile and hold hands with the two men, he suddenly felt like an unwanted addition to the scene. Though he yearned to be there and to talk to you, he knew it was his time to leave so he quietly moved away from the doorway and began walking back to the waiting room. His heart ached at the thought of leaving, but he knew that right now you needed the men who had become your brothers and he would just be an intruder.  


Not wanting to leave the hospital yet, he took a seat in the waiting room laying his head into his hands. Even though he had seen you alive and well, his heart still was clenched from the memories of the now two times he’d found you unconscious. It was all too clear now that he didn’t just fancy you. Somehow he, the Ice Man, had thawed his heart and fallen in love.


	18. Chapter 18

An unknown amount of time seemed to pass as Mycroft sat there, head in hands, trying to sort through his feelings for you and what your feelings for him could be. He was deep within his Mind Palace, trying to determine the best course of action, when a sharp jolt brought his attention back to the world. His eyes slowly focused, showing him his brother and John standing in front of him.  


“We’re leaving brother dearest” stated Sherlock in a clipped voice. He was very unhappy about something you had said to him. “Follow me” he said while stalking out of the hospital to flag down a taxi.  


Mycroft stood and brought his phone out so he could call his driver when John grabbed his hands and lowered them. “Ignore your brother. You know how he gets. Also, ___ said she would like to talk to you before you leave.” What would you want to talk about with him? Confused but not wanting to deny you anything, he nodded and began to walk off towards your room before John called out to him. “Mycroft!” He stopped and turned to look back at his brother’s best friend. Curious what he had to say. John jogged towards Mycroft so the two were standing face to face.  


“Look. I know your brother pretty well after years of living with him. Yes, he’s angry that you hold strong feelings for ___, but don’t let his anger stop you from trying to win her. She might not know it, but I think she feels the same way you do. Anyone who can cause you to walk around looking like a half crazed man obviously holds your heart.” With a small smirk, John waved his hand and turned to follow his flatmate who was probably terrorizing anyone within a forty foot vicinity.  


Shocked and confused, Mycroft thought deeply about John’s words while he headed towards your room. Pushing the door open, he realized he was the most unsure he’d ever been in the moment and all because of feelings. He still was trying to wrap his head around the fact he had fallen for you so hard and fast. All thoughts ceased as his eyes came to meet yours, somehow causing his body to flood with calm. A smile grew on his face as he walked over and took a seat in the chair beside your bed.  


“You requested my presence my dear?” he inquired while gauging your reaction. He had always had difficulty reading you, so he never quite knew where he stood with you.  


Your eyes seemed to roam over him, taking in his disheveled appearance. He knew you noticed his missing jacket and the fact his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. There were also the very obvious wrinkles in his clothing from him nervously wringing the fabric as he waited for news of you. “Why didn’t you come in with the other two earlier Mycroft?” you asked, seeming somewhat hurt at the fact he had left.  


Mycroft sighed collecting his thoughts. “I know you don’t have the most pleasant experiences with me and I didn’t want to mar a precious moment between family members.”  


A chuckle escaped you as you closed your eyes. “That’s quite silly you know. You say you’re the most brilliant man, but many times I’ve questioned that statement.”  


“Pray tell, what would cause this denial of my brilliance? Has it been the multiple concussions? If so, I’ll have to just remind you.” he said while smirking. His smile couldn’t help but grow as soft laughter bubbled forth from you, your eyes crinkling with mirth. His heart clenched at the sight of you and in that moment the need to kiss you gently was stronger than he had ever thought possible. Mouth dry he swallowed, trying to push back that feeling, while his brain also thought over John’s earlier words about your possible feelings for him. As much as he wanted to know, he was just as terrified. For if you did not share his sentiments, he was sure his heart would break in two.  


He watched as you shook your head, a ghost of a smile still on your face. “With facts and figures you’re a true genius Mycroft. It’s with matters of emotions and feelings that you’re not so smart.”  
He closed his eyes, mentally cursing himself for not knowing how handle to situation. For not knowing how to tell you or how to get you to understand. “As I said last night, I am not an expert at feelings. I typically avoid them.”  


“Mycroft.” you said while staring down at your hands, picking at the skin around your fingers in a nervous tick he had noticed when you first met. “I’ve been thinking and I have some questions. You don’t have to answer them at all, but I’d like at least the chance to ask them.” Thinking they pertained to your injuries or healing processes or even his brother, he nodded, not minding in the slightest and hoping that he could help even if only a little. Taking a deep breath you seemed to gather courage before talking about what had been weighing on your mind. “Why are you so against caring and having emotions for others?”  


Stunned, Mycroft took a bit to compose himself and answer, taking the time to stand and look out of the hospital window. “Well, growing up as I observed others and their lives, I noticed that there was a high correlation between caring and hurt. Those who cared for others always ended up hurt in the end, whether a loved one died or left them for another. As I grew older and I settled into my job working for the government, it became even more vital that I avoid caring, for it wasn’t just me liable to get hurt, but the country as well.” He turned to face you now. “The wellbeing of the entire country became my priority. Though I must say lately another concern has come to my attention.”  


Smiling but grimacing at the same time, you seemed to force yourself to ask another question. “So by that logic you would never be interested in a relationship with someone. Am I correct.”  


“Yes” he blunty answered, but then felt pain surge through his chest as he saw pain flit across your face for the briefest moment. Concern for you grew and he quickly was glancing over your body to check your injuries. “Are you ok? You seem in pain. Is there anything I can do to help?” He spoke quickly, wanting to rid you of whatever was causing your anguish.  


“No, I actually feel pretty good. Thank you though.” ____ said while staring at him.  


Though he seemed composed on the outside, mentally he was falling apart. He wanted to convey his feelings to you but didn’t understand how. His Mind Palace did not hold any information on these emotions other than what he had recently learned and he certainly did not understand how to tell someone they were the focus of his attraction. For some reason though he felt as though this moment in this room with you was pivotal and he yearned to express his feelings, even if in the end he was the one who was spurned. Before he could determine what course of action was best, you cleared your throat and softly asked another question.  


“If that’s the case… can you please explain what happened last night? You don’t have to answer this one, but honestly this is the most important one to me.”  


Those words cut through any worry he had for himself like a knife and somehow he found himself moving to sit down on the bed next to you in a similar fashion to the night before. Rather than look at your injuries, he stared into your eyes, searching for any clues as to what you were feeling or thinking. All he could tell is that you seemed scared and unsure.  


“It might take a bit to explain last night since I didn’t fully understand what happened until a bit ago myself. So bear with me please.” You nodded, indicating you were willing you listen and urging him to go on. “As I stated previously, there is another reason I discovered recently as to why caring is not an advantage. Every reason I’d had circled around myself and this country I serve. Two months ago I realized that my job not only put myself in danger, but those I could come to care about in danger. That thought struck me deeply and made me realize that I had in fact come to care for someone, even against my own will. This person had grown to captivate me and I had grown to cherish them in ways I always thought.” Mycroft noticed intrigue and curiousness take over as you unconsciously leaned forward, wanting to know more. “It was then that an internal battle started within myself, though I didn’t notice it at the time. Part of me wanted to give in and tell that person how much they had come to mean to me, while the other was terrified I would end up hurting them and causing them more grief.”  


Pausing for a moment, he gently grabbed her hands, holding them carefully so as to not aggravate any injuries. He noticed you intake a sharp breath, and worried he might have hurt you, he went to pull away, but you calmed down and gently squeezed his hands to let him know you were ok. “I’m ok, please continue.”  


“If you insist my dear.” Adjusting his grip on your hands he leaned forward so that his elbows could rest on the bed beside you, bringing him down to be face to face with you. “As I was saying, I have been debating if I should accept my feelings, and tell this person that I care, giving us both the chance to be happy, even though hurt would be inevitable.” He paused for a moment, searching your face while concentrated on his thoughts. “What would you suggest? You know better how to deal with matters of the heart than I do, and your opinion would be most welcome.”  


Taking a deep breathe you closed your eyes and seemed to think carefully about what to say. “It’s true what you said Mycroft, that hurt would be inevitable. Though I have to say, after everything I’ve been through in these past few years it made me see how important it is to spend time with the people you care about before they’re gone.” Tears again slipped from your eyes as you seemed lost in your thoughts.  


Pain wrenching his heart at the sight of your tears, Mycroft squeezed your good hand wanting to comfort you. “I know you don’t trust me ____, but if you’d like, I’d be willing to listen to anything you have to say. Anything to stop these tears and help you smile again.” Using his free hand he gently wiped the tears from your cheeks. What he had said was true. All he wanted was for you to smile; to laugh; to rip him apart with your wit again. And he was willing to do anything to help.  


You stifled your tears and thought back to the story you’d told John and Sherlock ages ago. “I’m assuming during my hospital stay last time someone might have said something about pre-existing injuries…” He nodded slowly, not wanting to scare you away. “The only ones who really know the basics of the story are your brother and John…. But… I feel I can tell you… did you ever wonder why I came to live in London?”  


This was something that had crossed his mind many times, but he had never been able to find any data pertaining to this. He knew you were from America and that you’d been raised in atypical lower middle class setting. You’d saved enough money and gotten yourself through college, though he had been hard pressed to find any information about your relatives or reason for coming here.  


“Most people come to London to get a job, or because it’s a place they’ve dreamed of traveling to, and though I had always wanted to visit London, what pushed me to move here was the need to escape possible death. Though it seems London isn’t as safe as I’d hoped it to be.”  


Intense hatred for whoever had hurt you or caused you pain rose up like a fire fueled by gasoline. “Tell me. Who the hell hurt you my dear? I will gut them and make them wish they had never been born.”  


Rather than give a straight answer you responded with a question. “No matter what Sherlock has done or puts you through, you love him, even if you show it differently. Correct?” He nodded. Of course he’d always love his little brother, annoying as he may be. He’d moved mountains for Sherlock so far and always would. “Even if for some reason he tried to kill you?” His breathing paused as your words and his thoughts clicked together, once again causing an intense fiery rage to burn, but this time, even stronger than before.  


“Explain before I find them and rip them apart with my bare hands.” he growled, so angry that anyone could ever hurt you, let alone your family.  


Sighing you closed your eyes for a moment and then turned to look at him. “I won’t make excuses for them. They were always violent growing up, my three older brothers. It seemed to be the only way they knew how to communicate. Jail time became a normal for them, though I know it hurt my parents to watch their sons fall into lives of crime. By the time I was in college I was able to avoid them and being hurt by them though I didn’t realize how far they had fallen. While attending school, they joined with a powerful local gang that had a long standing feud with the gang from the town over. One day after class they asked me to meet them and I naively went. Someone ended knocking me out and tying me to a chair.” You paused and he took the time to look more closely at your wrists, noticing how some of the scarring was years older but expertly covered with tattoos.  


“Well, it seemed that they owed the opposing gang a lot of money, but they had come to an agreement. I would suffice for payment it seemed. My brothers spit on me and laughed at how vulnerable and useless I was. Thankfully they were dumb enough to go to another part of the factory to celebrate while waiting for my new owners. I managed to escape similarly to how I got out a few months ago. I filed a report and had them put in jail. As much as I loved them, I knew it would be safer if they were in jail. Once the trial was over and they were incarcerated, I packed my things and bought a one way ticket to London. You probably know my story from then.”  


Mycroft could not bring himself to speak as he stared into your eyes. Each day you proved his initially judgement of you to be incorrect. You kept showing him how strong and brilliant you are.  


“My parents are safe which makes me feel better.” You spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “They moved to another state to be with family and to have a fresh start. I haven’t checked on the status of my brothers, but I pray they stay in jail for a long time. They need help and it seems that’s the only place they can get it.”  


He wasn’t sure what fueled his next action, but all he knew is that he felt it to be absolutely necessary. Moving closer to you, Mycroft bent and gently hugged you to him while rubbing your back in soothing circles. Even while doing so, his brain was in shock for he never was one to comfort others. It just wasn’t something he did, but with you, all he wanted was to take away any negative emotion so all you would do is smile and laugh. It was then that it clicked how strong his emotions were for you, and how he finally understood what you had said. Yes the two of you might get hurt, but loving you was more important than anything he’d ever known.


End file.
